


What Is and What Should Never Be

by Mistressaq



Series: What Is and What Should Never Be [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Amnesia, Derealization, Domestic, Fantasy Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-05 06:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistressaq/pseuds/Mistressaq
Summary: The Brians have a very…uniqueway of hunting monsters. Namely, dressing up as ladies and presenting as live bait. Sexual tension has always been part of their partnership, but it just can’t work out between them that way. Then The Brians track down a djinn--a monster of twisted wish fulfillment--and not everything goes to plan. When everything is exactly how they always wanted to be… nothing is right.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt came from an AQ anon, so thanks. I immediately thought of the Supernatural episode much like the ask so I wrote Trixya as monster hunters going after djinn. Their deepest wishes for a different life are turned upside down leading to new appreciation for each other as they are. Originally posted May 29, 2017 to AQ. edited before submitting to ao3.

It was dark in the dead of the forest. The environment rattled with the wind in the trees and the breathing of countless nocturnal predators. Katya worriedly wrestled with the firepit. Trixie had been right. They should have gotten the fire going long before the tent. _Stupid Katya, stupid!_ She sat back against the log bench of the campsite, grumbling in frustration.  


“I just really don’t think it’s safe out here,” complained Trixie in a small voice. Something rattled in the canopy above and the pink-clad girl jumped in fright.  


Katya rolled her eyes in the dim light. “This was supposed to be a relaxing getaway, Tracy. Why you gotta psych yourself out like this?”  


Another rattle of the canopy and Trixie was pacing back and forth on the edges of the circle of light provided by the one gas lantern they’d thought to bring.  
“God! Will you quit it?!” demanded Katya, more than a little aggravated.  


Trixie halted, tense. “Would you rather I calmly wait for a mountain lion to come eat us?”  


Katya ignored the sarcasm. “Actually being eaten by a mountain lion may be the greenest way to die. You contribute to the local environment and ecosystem in far more ways than traditional burial--”  


“I’M NOT HAVING MY BONES SHAT OUT BY A PREDATOR, KATYA!” snapped Trixie. She shot daggers at her friend. Ex-friend, she was about to be. “Look,” said Trixie as she grabbed the sole lantern. “I am going to the lodge.”  


“Oh no you’re not.” Katya tried to grab the light from her. “You have the directional sense of a drunk preschooler.”  


“And you have the danger sense of Bella Swan,” retorted Trixie. Boosted off the strength of her recent fitness journey, she yanked the lantern away from Katya, sending the other girl stumbling back to the ground. Before heading off into the night, leaving Katya behind, Trixie offered a salty “See you back at the lodge, bitch!”  


Katya’s heart sped watching her disappear into the dark. This part was never easy.

About ten minutes in, Trixie realized going it alone in Appalachian wilderness on the night of a new moon was a bad idea. No friendly moonbeams waxed their way between gaps in the canopy above, no light shimmered off the surface of the bubbling brook. All Trixie had was the waning light of the lantern.  


Twenty minutes in, her mind started playing tricks on her. Her footfalls on the dead leaves seemed cacophonous. The hoot of the owls was so loud every time it happened she jumped at the noise. The air seemed to grow colder around her. The ground itself felt like it sucked on her heels, attempting to pull her into the earth beneath rotting plant matter.  


Twenty-three minutes in, her footsteps had an echo.  


She’d stop. So would the echo. Her heart would pound. She’d wait, and hear nothing but the night.  


She picked up the pace. The echo returned. And it sounded like it was getting closer.  


Trixie sped to a brisk walk. The echo followed, sounding actually faster. In fact, it was her footfalls which seemed the echo now. Her breath sped in and out of her throat, rubbing it raw. _I am definitely being followed._  


She wanted to spin around, to face her pursuer head on, but she’d played enough Slender to know the number one rule of escape type horror games. Never. Turn. Around.  


The trail seemed to go on forever. It had been about an hour hike up to the campsite from the lodge, but they’d taken stops for photo ops and water breaks. Trixie was almost at a full run now -- where the hell was that lodge?  


Her lantern hit a wall. A cliff, to be exact. Where it had come from she didn’t know, but the trail stopped. In fact, she realized she’d veered off the trail a while ago. And she’d stopped… but the other footsteps hadn’t.  


So much for the one rule.  


Trixie spun around, lantern in hand, ready to fight with a gas flame in a jar and her bare, acrylic-tipped hands.  


_I’m from the Midwest, bitch. We grow two things: wheat and serial killers--I’m not afraid of you!_  
… is what Trixie thought she was gonna say upon seeing her pursuer. What she actually said was “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!”  
It was a humanoid mass of matted fur and leaves, the size of a linebacker and pitch black holes served as eyes. And it was coming right for her.  


Until Katya swiped her magic sword through the thing’s neck.  


The black eyes bent forward with the head as it fell freely from its neck, oozing otherworldly black smoke from the open wound and giving off the distinct odor of burning flesh and rotting leaves.  


“Gotta say, not my best work.” Katya walked over to a nearby tree stump and wiped off her sword. Trixie always thought it was badass--carrying a sword. But she’d been awful controlling them, no matter how often and in what ways Katya tried to teach her. She was just better with a revolver than with a blade.  


Nevertheless, Katya’s sword was gorgeous. One side of pure iron, the other of pure silver, perfect for80% of their monster-hunting needs. A vial of holy water fit secretly into the handle of the weapon, upon which was scrawled a dozen runes Trixie had no idea the origins of, but she could feel the power the symbols carried when she was even close to the elegant blade.  


“Okay,” Trixie took a deep, steadying breath. “That counts as my cardio for the day.”  


Katya chuckled. “Sure.” Done with cleaning, she sheathed her sword in her completely inconspicuous golf bag which she slung over her shoulder. “Anything we missed in the lore?” she asked, just to be sure. They never missed anything.  


Trixie shook her head and lightly poked the corpse with her toe. “Forest Ghoul here is the keeper of the others he’s killed in his area. When he dies, the other souls get set free to go wherever it is that souls go when they aren’t wandering around like angsty teens.”  


Katya nodded. “Any special way we need to dispose of the body?”  


Trixie looked straight into the smoking open neck wound. There was something about the way the ooze reflected the lantern light that was strangely captivating. “Nah, by sunrise he’ll melt into the earth. Supposedly if we return here in a year’s time, a really pretty glade will rise up thanks to all the energy released by the death of the ghoul. In the center should be a spindly white and grey Ghoulbush, its’ leaves believed to give visions beyond the veil when smoked.”  


“Sounds like a fun Halloween prank,” remarked Katya. With nothing left to really touch base on, Katya extended her arm for Trixie to take. “Now is cuddling up in a tent with me really so awful that you still want to go back to the lodge?” she asked, only half-joking.  


Trixie rested her hand in the crook of Katya’s ebow and rolled her eyes. “I just ran half a mile in kitten heels. I’m pretty sure I _deserve_ the lodge.”  


Katya smiled. Having slain the monster in record time, back to civilization they went.

“I’d like to report the status of one Appalachian Forest Ghoul,” said Katya proudly. “Deceased.”  


“Excellent work, boys,” congratulated Ross from Dispatch. It was the next morning, and The Brians were supposed to check in when their assignment was finished. If they didn’t, someone else would be assigned to come clean up their mess… including their corpses, or what was left of them. Ross had been their dispatcher for the past few months, after Michelle got too attached and had to leave. Monster hunting was a dangerous game, one that carried a high mortality rate. It was only a matter of time before one of her assigned teams got eaten. You had to be ready. And you couldn’t get attached. Ross was good at that.  


Ross went about the customary assessment: any casualties-- no; any damage to public or private property-- no; any-- “I’m telling you Ross, it was a clean hunt. Cleaner that we’ve been in a long time.” Katya had reverted to Brian in the hours since returning to the lodge and waking up with Trixie, who was always the first to drop the feminine facade and go back to being a boy.  


“Wow, I tell you, you Brians have a great track record. Justin and Aaron always cause a huge mess whenever we assign them somewhere,” Ross confessed.  


“Is that why the last time we ran into them it was in that vampire mega-nest?” It had been obvious when they’d gotten to the shipyard that nobody was getting out of that one unscathed. Brian scratched at the scars on his neck, constant reminders of how many times the ‘messy’ hunters had saved his and the other Brian’s ass.  


Ross nodded. “And don’t tell them I told you that. You know what the higher-ups think of keeping up with other hunters.”  


Brian pursed his lips seriously. The same reasoning behind dispatch and hunters not getting attached.  


“Anyway,” said Ross cheerfully, returning to his peppy professional persona. “If you’re still in Appalachia, I have another assignment for you.”  


The Other Brian came out of the shower at that moment, clad in boxers and the lodge’s complimentary forest green bathrobe. It hung slightly open to reveal his toned chest, and the many scars that came with the job. So many things had gone for Brian Firkus’ heart, it was no surprise why he guarded it so heavily. Brian McCook smiled slightly. Firkus kept his heart shoved away from the world, except, on occasion, from his hunting partner.  


“What’s this assignment?” asked the Brian in the bathrobe to the open laptop.  


Ross pulled up a collection of images as he gave The Brians the lowdown. “So we’re pretty sure this is what you’re gonna be hunting in upstate Pennsylvania. Djinn.”  


Bathrobe Brian barked a laugh. “Genies?”  


“Not Robin Williams in a lamp, Brian,” corrected Ross. “These are spirits made from fire; most of these guys are hostile -- not all, but most. People have been disappearing within a hundred miles of this place.” An image of an abandoned warehouse took the place of the collage on the screen.  


“Disappearances are pretty run-of-the-mill,” commented Bathrobe Brian. “What makes you think a) that this is a job for us and not the police, and b) that genies are to blame?”  


Ross brought up a crime scene photo of a section of pavement with a pair of footprints burned into the ground, blue dust surrounding them. He then brought up about six other crime scene photos of similar scorched footprints. “This is all that the victims left behind.” Ross returned the view to his face. “Now, this next part is important, guys. Look, we need you to take extra caution with this djinn situation, okay? This isn’t the kind of thing you can cut corners with. You gotta be stealthy. We wouldn’t give this assignment to an inexperienced or messy team.”  


The Brians shared a look. They had been hunting together for two years and seen a lot of shit, but Ross’ serious tone was making them nervous.  


“These things are old. Really old, and they’re smart. We only think we’re dealing with one djinn here; they don’t seem to travel in pairs or packs like werewolves, but you never know.”  


McCook, who had been silent most of this time nodded his head. “You can count on us, boss.”  


Ross pursed his lips. “I’m sending an informational PDF your way. Please read it, I’d really rather you not die… I’m getting pretty fond of you boys.” He looked at the Brians with a mixture of love and sadness. They recognized the look. It was the same one Michelle gave them before she had to leave dispatch.  


When Ross clicked himself out of the chat, Brian Firkus looked to Brian McCook. “Why do we have to be so goddamn lovable?”  


McCook sighed. “I know, now we’ll have to get a new dispatcher. Again.” The laptop chimed, signaling Ross’s PDF had arrived in the inbox.  
McCook rubbed his dry eyes and couldn’t help but yawn.  


“You wanna grab a few Z’s before we hit the road?” asked Firkus. The other Brian tried to resist, but another yawn took the place of his words and Firkus grabbed the laptop from him. “Nope! I am going to the Business Center to print out the most important info, and YOU, my friend,” he said, shoving McCook toward one of the two queen beds in their suite “are going to sleep soundly before we head to Pennsylvania. Because I am not sitting passenger while you fall asleep at the wheel, again.”  


With that, Brian Firkus flounced out the door, leaving Brian McCook all alone to his thoughts.  


He lay down on his pristine bed, having never even tried to sleep the previous night. He would never admit it to anyone-- wouldn’t even have confided in the other Brian if it weren’t obvious-- but the night after a hunt, he was never able to sleep. And when he could find his way to rest, he’d wake up sweaty and screaming.  


His head hit the pillow and was out.  


In his dream, Brian heard screaming. The screaming of his mother. Every time he was a second too late to save someone from a monster, every time he made a mistake, a misstep, and cost a man, woman or child their life, every failure, the hunting partner he’d lost-- all came flooding back to him. All of them screaming at once.  


He shot straight up in his bed in the lodge, the blankets rent in his fight against things that were no longer a threat. He looked, foolishly, for the other Brian, who was always so kind with bringing him back to reality, pulling him out of his head. Of course, Brian Firkus was nowhere to be seen. So there was no one to stop the tears of anguish and despair that came right after.

In the car, Brian Firkus was plagued with guilt. His companion was uncharacteristically silent and he knew exactly why. _How could I forget about his dreams?_ He mentally flogged himself for being so inconsiderate. _I should have come back after I printed out the research. Some partner I am._  


McCook surprised him by clearing his throat and asking “So, the evil genie, how do we kill him?”  


Firkus took a deep breath and referenced the documents. “Well, first off, we don’t necessarily know it’s a ‘he’.”  


McCook rolled his eyes. “You gonna get into monster gender politics again with me, Firkus? You know what I mean.”  


Firkus pursed his lips. “Okay, it looks like a dagger of pure silver--”  


“Done,” declared McCook.  


“Hey, that’s not all,” said Firkus. “Silver knife, _dipped_ in lamb’s blood.”  


McCook winced. “We gotta kill an animal?”  


Firkus rolled his eyes. “You literally beheaded something not 12 hours ago.”  


“That was a monster!” he defended. _It was attacking you,_ he didn’t say.  


“Well, I grew up on a farm, not a ranch,” said Firkus. “We didn’t kill our animals… we worked ‘em into the dirt then sold them to the glue factory.”  


McCook cackled and wheezed, which was far less worrying behavior when he wasn’t behind the wheel of a thousand-pound hunk of metal charging down a busy national highway.  


“Wait,” said Firkus, seeing a road sign. “We might not have to heartlessly slaughter an animal. Do you have your drag with you?”  


McCook nodded. “Obviously.”  


Firkus smiled mischievously. “I have an idea.”

“You want what?” asked the butcher’s wife, more than a little perturbed by the strange request of the even stranger blonde woman.  
Katya smiled broadly, flashing her pearlescent teeth. She laid the accent on thick. “It is for a Russian recipe I am making for my dear American husband. I cannot seem to find a rancher who will let me slaughter one of their precious lambs for myself, so--”  
“You some kind o’ satanist?” squawked the butcher’s wife.  
Katya laughed heartily. “Oh, of course not! Satan lost. It would be un-American to side with the losing side of a conflict, would it not?” She flashed another smile.  
The butcher’s wife, though still thoroughly off-put by the appearance of what seemed to be a mail-order bride, decided it would just be better if she gave the woman what she wanted so she could go on her way. Never letting the blonde out of her sight, she collected some leftover blood from their latest case of yearling mutton. When she handed the jug to the Russian, the blonde woman beamed at her and placed a kiss on either side of her cheeks. She left cherry red stain behind, which the butcher’s wife worked to wipe off with her apron.  
“Who was that?” asked her husband, watching Katya bounce out the door.  
She shook her head in resignation as they watched the car pull out of their lot. “Someone I hope to God we’ll never see again.”

“This stuff smells so bad,” said Firkus as he dipped one knife into the open jar. The contents were a pinkish color, slightly separated from age and refrigeration.  
Katya shifted her weight on her wedges. She always felt best hunting in drag. Something about it felt better that way, more powerful, like she was a righteous woman slaying the patriarchy with every subverted expectation of her fighting ability. Seeing as this was more of a stealth mission, Brian Firkus left Trixie in the car. His drag alter ego was more of a tool, a means to the end of the forces of darkness. Trixie was live bait. Katya was Buffy herself.  


Weapons prepped, Brian fiddled with one of his knives. “Hey, you’ve got my back, right?” he asked, just to be sure.  


“Insecurity will get you nowhere,” said Katya. “The only way you’re gonna get better with a blade is to use one.”  


Brian nodded slightly, then looked up at the abandoned warehouse. It was pretty sturdy-looking on the outside, with a few boarded up windows and rotting in some places, but overall it didn’t look so bad.  


On the inside it was incredibly dark and dank, must making The Brians feel the need to cough. They held on and found their way around the first floor. Grates and shelves made a kind of maze for them to find their way through. Perhaps before it was abandoned, this place was a factory, a mill of some kind. Brian could imagine the way voices would have bounced off the walls, all screaming over each other, trying to be heard over the whir of dangerous machinery  


“ _Brian_!” hissed Katya.  


He only had enough time to spin around and see the dark figure with the glowing blue eyes before it touched him.  


Katya flung her silver blood-baptized knife at the djinn separating her from Brian, but by the time the metal was about to sink into the back of its’ neck, it had vanished into a puff of blue smoke, along with Brian, leaving nothing behind but a pair of shoe prints where his feet had been scorched into the cement floor.  


Katya grabbed the hilt of her sword. It hadn’t been dipped in the blood, but it was still half silver, which should still hurt like hell to a djinn. She’d seen a staircase to a basement level not far away. That’s where her intuition spurred her, so that’s where she ran, vaulting over a desk to get there. She seriously wished she’d read the lore on this one; without her partner she felt unbalanced, out of control, alone. Anxiety grabbed her by the heartstrings, which she funneled into her legs, making her advance ever faster toward the stairwell. She took the steps two at a time, barreling right into a pair of bare, giant blue tattooed tits resting on top of an inflated gut. She had just enough time to look up at the heavily tattooed face of a female djinn, eyes aglow, before she pressed a palm to Katya’s forehead, pushing her into darkness.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brians are transported into worlds where their deepest desire comes true. McCook always wanted a partner who is okay with noncommittal debauchery. Firkus longs for that apple pie life with a person who knows him inside and out. As both get accustomed, they find that there is trouble in paradise. Tw for derealization and amnesia. Also mentions of drug use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to AQ on 5-31-2017. Flashbacks added and edited before posting to AO3

_The demons glowing pink eyes bored straight into his soul. “You can’t lie to me, I know your desire. I can give you what you want.” She held up her hand. An image of himself, and the other Brian, appeared above her palm. They both wore tuxedos and stood under an arch, a man with an open book between them. The image shifted to show them again together, this time on a couch, falling asleep on one another, surrounded by children’s toys. His throat grew tight and he felt the overwhelming urge to reach forward, take her hand and offer up his soul in return for that life._  
_Katya swiped her sword through the demon’s neck._  
~~~  


Brian awoke on soft sheets. The room was temperate and comforting, lulling him to continue sleeping. He was about to take the hint and burrow back into his pillow when a familiar voice breathed hot against his ear. “Morning, my love.”  


Brian spun to see the other Brian, eyes of sparkling blue, even this early in the morning. His shock and confusion must have shown on his face, because the other Brian arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”  


He squeezed his eyes closed, the opened them again. Brian McCook was still in his bed with him, shirtless and… yeah, he was naked. They both were. This wasn't right. Was this right?  


“Honey, what’s wrong?” McCook asked with genuine concern, shifting in bed, reaching toward him.  


Brian sprung out of bed and grabbed at his pants at the foot of the bed. What had they done? What had he done?  


His eyes darted around the room. There were pictures he didn’t remember -- maybe faintly remembered taking. He and the other Brian in front of Niagara Falls. Pictures of some kids he didn’t recognize. An oversized photo of the two Brians, each in matching tuxedos in front of a white lattice archway and looking happier than two people could ever be.  


Seeing all that set off a strange debate in his head. Why--what-- why didn’t he remember this? Why did he remember this? He remembered dancing with the other Brian as newlyweds. He didn’t remember it being any other way, but it still felt…  


“Brian, you’re scaring me,” he heard a weak voice from behind him.  


Firkus turned. The crystal blue eyes were the only thing that didn’t set off this gut-wrenching confusion inside him. It was the one thing that felt… still.  


McCook was worriedly waiting for an answer. Firkus knew he couldn’t give one. He shook his head. “I…” How was he supposed to explain it? He chuckled despite himself.  


The other Brian seemed to understand. “Is it happening again?” he asked softly.  


“Again?” questioned Firkus.  


The other Brian shrugged on a forest green robe and slowly approached him. “We haven’t had to deal with one of these in a while, but I guess with everything that’s been going on, it was only a matter of time before you relapsed.”  


Relapsed? Brian was more confused than ever. Relapsed from what?  


McCook took his hand and softly stroked it. The tingling sensation was nice, soothing actually. “Brian, do you know who I am?”  


He looked back at the oversized photo. “My…” His voice was shaky, unsure. “You’re my husband? Brian McCook.” That last part he knew for a fact. He looked back at the eyes, let them steady him.  


The other Brian smiled approvingly. “Good, Bri, that’s really good.” He let his shoulders fall; he hadn’t even been aware how stiff he was. “Now, do you know where we are?”  


He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Our house?”  


The other Brian smiled. “Yes, honey. Do you know where we live?”  


His heart sped up. Clues--were there any of those around? America, he was pretty sure--or it could possibly be Canada.  


“Where do we live, Brian?” prodded the other, softly as ever.  


He swallowed again, his brows knitting together. “North?”  


A soothing hand found its way to the side of his face, stroking his cheek. He felt himself relax again. “We live in Milwaukee Wisconsin, in a suburb about an hour’s drive from your work. Where do you work?”  


As soon as he said it, Brian knew it was true. Of course they were in Milwaukee, where else would they be? But where did he work?  


It went on like this, and it became obvious that Brian had none of the answers to begin with that he didn’t have a clue to help him figure out.  


Then the other Brian asked who else lived with them.  


He shook his head, and for the first time since waking up, him not knowing something seemed to actually hurt McCook. He nodded sadly and squeezed his eyes shut, blinking back tears. Immediately, Brian regretted whatever he’d done to hurt his husband. Though he hadn’t known it when he woke up, he felt the years they’d spent together, he knew the other Brian was and always would be his soulmate-- he just knew. He also knew he never, ever wanted to hurt his soulmate.  


So he watched attentively as the other Brian walked up to the photo cabinet and pulled out two photos: one of a red-faced baby, the other of a slobbery toddler. He’d noticed them before, but they were unimportant to him then. The way his husband held the images suggested that he was wrong in his initial assumption.  


“Are these…” he started. The other Brian said everything with the love in his eyes that he didn’t with his words. “These are _our_ kids.”  


The other Brian sighed with happiness. Tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, Brian, they are. Do you know how we got them?”  


He closely examined the likenesses. Both kids were Caucasian, so they could be adopted or could not. The baby had its eyes closed so there was no way of telling if it had either of their eye colors. The toddler seemed to have the same bright smile as the other Brian, but really, it was impossible to tell.  


Seeing his difficulty, the other Brian explained. “This one,” he referenced the toddler. “We adopted from a teen mom.” Of course, he thought. He remembered meeting with her, so scared, and so little in comparison to her belly. She had been rescued from a human trafficking operation. He remembered her bright orange hair and frightened brown eyes that had seen so much more than they should have at only fifteen.  


He told the other Brian his recollections, and received a thankful hug in return. “And this one?” he pointed to the baby. “Jog my memory?”  


The other Brian caressed the glass frame. “This photo’s a little out of date. Babies, they just grow so fast.” He smiled, and it simultaneously hurt and healed Brian’s heart. “Back in September, a single mother died of eclampsia. She left behind her little girl.” He could hear the lump in his husband's throat at retelling the sad story.  


Brian bit his lip and stroked the other Brian’s back, between his shoulder blades. Something about the action just felt right. His husband leaned into the touch, and they embraced.  


When Brian couldn’t keep the question inside any longer, he asked “How old is she now?”  


The other Brian pulled back and set the photos back on the shelf. “Eight months.” he let some time pass before he gently asked “Do you know their names?”  


Brian really didn’t want to disappoint his husband. He looked at those kids with such awe, such love. It would be a crime to find out he couldn’t remember the names of their own children. If he could name one of these girls, knowing the circumstances… It was cheesy but, “Hope?”  


The other Brian beamed. He’d gotten it right! His life was coming back to him!  


Then reality set in with a harsh chill of guilt. Brian sat down on his side of the bed, hard. “How could I ever forget?”  


The other joined him. “It’s not your fault, Bri,” he implored. “That was a crazy accident you got into. The doctors said it was a miracle you came back without more damage -- it was a miracle you came back to me at all.” Brian kissed his hand.  


This time it didn’t soothe nearly as much. Not when he knew he had kids to support. He couldn’t just go forgetting his entire life! He shook his head. “You said earlier, it was only a matter of time before I relapsed. What does that mean?”  
His husband looked upon him sadly. All of a sudden he hated that look. He didn’t want pity--he wanted answers! “Why did I forget?” he demanded.  


The other Brian stood up and paced around the bedroom. “It’s… you suffer from occasional lapses in memory retrieval.” Brian put his head in his hands. “It’s not your fault,” reassured his husband again. “And I don’t hold anything against you, love. Neither do any of our friends… remember our friends? Aaron? And Justin?”  


A mental image of another couple came up. A dark-haired, lanky tree of a man with a blonde haired, blue-eyed husband of average height. Into Liz Taylor and Marilyn Manson respectively. Things were coming back, which he guessed was a good sign. “They don’t have kids, do they?”  


The other Brian shook his head. “They’re just fine with their cats. And looking after our girls.” He smiled. “They spoil them to no end.”  


“Where are our girls?” asked Brian suddenly. “I want to see our girls.”  
.  
_Brian’s fantasy, the thing the monster dangled before him, was a free life. Hunting was free, but he hated the bureaucracy of it all -- reporting to HQ, receiving all assignments from them, not having a say in what he did or where he went. Always keeping a low profile. Staying out of trouble._  
_And the other Brian rejected him, because it could never be what he wanted, McCook could never give him a safe life. Because it could never go beyond fooling around. Firkus talked about polyamory or open relationships as if the idea itself was covered in demon goo. McCook wished, and the wishing well monster knew, that he could have a life where the people around him didn’t care so damn much._  
_Firkus dropped a Molotov into the well, and the spirit went up in flames._  
~~~  


Brian woke up on the floor. His mouth tasted funny and it was dry. He tried to take a deep breath but the air tasted acrid, like smoke. He jolted upright -- was the building on fire?!  


“Hey!” complained a voice. Someone had fallen asleep on top of him and his sudden movement had woken them up. The figure pulled himself up and Brian was surprised to find another Brian’s face looking back at him, red on his cheek where he’d crashed on the carpet of what was apparently the living room area of an apartment. “Good morning, bitch,” croaked the other Brian.  


“Do you smell that?” he couldn’t help but ask.  


Brian Firkus rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. He made faces as he worked himself awake. “What?”  


“That--it smells like smoke.”  


The other Brian cackled and it seriously weirded him out. There was something definitely not right about that laugh. “That would be the sweet stink of sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll.” He got up and staggered his way through an open door into what must have been the kitchen. He came back with a fresh can of beer and popped it open.  


“Wow, isn’t it a little early for that, man?” he couldn’t help but ask. “You just woke up.”  


The other Brian looked at him like he’d just said M. Night Shyamalan made good movies. Then he let out another sickly cackle, this one dripping in sarcasm. “OH, _McCook_ is telling me it’s too early to drink--Eddie!” He swatted at an unconscious man on the living room couch. The guy didn’t move. Brian watched the guy’s chest, starting to think this Eddie might actually be dead.  


The other Brian downed a large swig.  


Every second Brian spent in this apartment felt wrong. Deeply wrong. He shakily got up, noticing the lack of strength in his legs.  


“Woah, where you going?” sassed the other Brian.  


He took as deep a breath as he could; his chest was sore. “I… think I need to go home.”  


Firkus looked at him like he was a complete moron. “Where the fuck you think you are, Brenda?”  


Brian couldn’t figure out if the other was being genuine or not. He really didn’t feel right. “I… I think I need to get some air.”  


Firkus approached him and helped Brian over to a chair. It had an unconscious girl in it, who Firkus merely shoved and she lolled onto the floor, completely limp. Brian didn’t know what was going on, but they had woken up together and the other Brian did seem to know. He didn’t really have any choice but to trust him.  


He let the other take care of him as he shuddered for seemingly no reason. “W-wh-what’s h-ha-happening to me?”  


“I told you not to dip into the hard shit again, fucker,” Firkus seemed to use ‘fucker’ as a term of pitying endearment.  


McCook shuddered again. He was sweating. “Why am I sweating?”  


Firkus insisted he stand and walked him over to the bathroom. Firkus knew what was coming before he did, and he vomited (mostly) into the toilet. “What the fuck?” he moaned.  


“Again. Why the _fuck_ did you go back to the hard shit?” Firkus demanded.  


McCook shook his head. “I don’t remember.”  


Firkus scoffed and struck a match. He lit a scented candle that already had been burned down to the wick, then lit a cigarette from the back pocket of his dirty jeans. “ _Of course_ you don’t remember.”  


“You seem to know me,” gasped McCook, feeling another wave of nausea hit hard. “Why do you think--” his voice tightened as acid scalded its way up his esophagus.  


“Why would you hit the pipe again?” summarized Firkus, sitting unbothered on the counter. “Could have something to do with seeing me blow someone who ain’t you for a gram of blow.”  


McCook hurled. “What?” he asked once he’d caught his breath.  


Firkus blew a string of smoke his way. “Didn’t you agree to the whole ‘boyfriend-ish’ thing? Fuck, if I knew you were gonna get all clingy and dramatic I never would have agreed to this shit. Here.” he handed McCook his cigarette. “I’m already tired of hearing you gag; have some weed for the nausea.”  


McCook took a desperate drag. He’d do anything to stop feeling so fucking awful. He groaned. “How did we get here?” he asked honestly.  


Firkus pulled out a fresh cigarette. “The Man failed us and now we self medicate until we can’t see how fucked the future is.” He lit up.  


Brian looked up at the other man. “That was kinda poetic, you know that?”  


Firkus smiled ruefully. “Would have made a great songwriter.”  


“What happened?”  


Firkus gave McCook the side-eye. “You’re really fucked, aren’t you?”  


“Your voice is calming.” McCook rested his sweaty face against the cold side of the toilet bowl.  


Firkus shook his head. “You’re not gonna remember a thing I say.”  


“Tell me anyway.”  


He let out another long string of smoke, never taking his eyes off McCook. After a good minute of consideration, he sat back against the bathroom mirror and said, “All right then, kiddo, storytime.”  
Brian let his gaze drift.  


“I’ve always had a thing for music. Poetry, rhyming, that was just my thing. I was good at it -- didn’t have to really think about it, I was just good. And I also really like theater. So, when I went to college, I got a BFA, and I also wrote a shit-ton… I had this big dream of getting out of Wisconsin and going someplace glamorous like… New York, Seattle, L.A., fuck, even Ottawa. Instead I end up in a shit den by the name of Boston. I ran out of money for the bus. This is where they kicked me off, so this is where I stayed. Gave a blowjob, got some money, went to the nearest bar, didn’t say ‘no’ to anything and woke up here… That was a couple months ago.  


“You had a thing for me from the beginning, and I was waiting until you had something I wanted--you know, money, drugs, booze, whatever. But turned out we were both freeloaders. You told me… like two months ago that you were looking for something ‘boyfriend-ish’ but without the jealousy and grossness that comes with an actual commitment to a relationship, and… I was down.  


“So you can see why all of a sudden I’m a little pissed off that you’d go and pull a stunt like this,” said Firkus pointedly. “And now I have to nurse you through a detox when you told me you were done with the Tina.”  


Brian felt the pain he’d caused, that he didn’t remember even causing. Maybe he did--his brain was fried. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly.  


Firkus took a deep drag. “I’m sorry too.”


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their separate realities, The Brians start seeing through the cracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I named these chapters, this one would be 'Aftershocks'. I highly recommend you listen to the song from Next to Normal -- its all i was thinking about when I wrote this. Originally posted June 1, 2017 to AQ.

There was a dying girl in the hallway. Ghostly pale, she looked straight at Brian Firkus. His husband walked right past her. Firkus blinked. Aftershocks, he tried to convince himself. She’s not real. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them again the girl was gone.  


“Babe?” came the other Brian’s caring voice.  


“Coming,” he said, and shakily picked up his pace into their eldest daughter's’ room.  


Hope was three years old. She had her mother’s frizzy red hair and sparkling blue eyes like McCook. There was something so heartwarming in the way that McCook bent over their daughter to pull her sleepily into his arms, pick her up, balance her on his hip, and walk her over to Brian.  


“Say ‘good morning’ to Dada, Hope,” cooed Brian.  


The girl rubbed her eyes with a fist and croaked in a baby morning voice, “Mornin’ to Dada.”  


Brian couldn’t help but chuckle; his husband beamed. He reached out a hand to run it down Hope’s chubby cheeks and hum a good morning to the girl. Still cold from the sight in the hallway, he didn’t feel like he could support the weight of a three-year old without dropping her. Children were so fragile.  


Then Hope smiled at him with her baby teeth in a crooked smile and her shimmery blue eyes and he realized he was 100% ready to kill for this little angel. Or die for her.  


The baby cried from across the hall. McCook smiled and pecked him on the cheek. “Are you good to fix Hope’s breakfast? And I’ll go take care of Tracy?”  


_Tracy._  


Something yanked at the back of Brian’s brain. Something strong. Tracy, a teasing word. Laughter from far away. But as soon as it had come, it was gone, and Brian had a hungry three-year-old to deal with.  


He put her down in her highchair at the table and asked where the cereal was. Hope thought it was a silly game, but played along and pointed to where things were. If she got it wrong, she was at least close; she told him one drawer was where the spoons were when it was, in fact, where the kitchen knives were, which made more sense given that the drawer was child-proofed. Brian had to toss a whole bowl of cereal down the drain because ‘ _Dada_! Crunchies first! Milk after!’.  


Given that he hadn’t known what state he was in when he woke up, Brian considered the job well done when Hope was happily munching away and his husband came into the kitchen, bouncing the baby on his hip like it came completely naturally to him.  


Brian was just watching his husband with awe when the other man asked, “Babe, are you okay to drive Hope to daycare? Tracy’s pediatrician appointment is today.”  


He said it so lightly but Brian couldn’t help the sting of worry in his gut at the mention of a doctor. “Pediatrician, why-- what’s wrong with her?”  


McCook cooed in apology. “Oh, nothing, hon. It’s just the eight month checkup.” He raised the baby to his face and rubbed their noses together. “ _You’re perfect_ , aren’t you? _Aren’t you?!”_  


Tracy giggled and squirmed her fat little legs. The interaction set off the simultaneously newfound and pre-existing paternal love in Brian. He wanted to punch something it was so goddamn cute.  


“So is that a ‘yes’ for driving to daycare?” asked McCook with a soft yet expectant look.  


“Anything for you,” said Brian without thinking. His husband crossed the kitchen to give him a kiss. He kept it going. It set off something heated inside him, something he suspected had been hibernating during new parenthood. He found himself wishing for that quiet place between just the two of them early in the morning before the girls woke up, or after they fell asleep.  


Then came a distinct and high-pitched “Eww! _Daddies_!”  


Both Brians cracked up at Hope’s shrill protest.  


“Where are the car keys?” asked Firkus, still slightly ashamed of all the little things his memory had dropped.  


His loving husband pointed to a ceramic bowl by the front door as he re-situated Tracy oh his hip and took a newly-warmed bottle out of the microwave.  


Brian pulled Hope out of her high chair and went to put her in the car straight for day care before the other Brian stopped him. “Oh, hon, would you mind getting her dressed first? God, I’m so sorry-- I forget how much help you need in the beginning.”  


He could tell his husband was genuinely sorry for causing him stress, but it was really hard not to feel bad when Brian couldn’t seem to do anything for himself without someone helping him--even his three-year-old knew his own home better than he did. He tried to fend for himself while dressing Hope for the day, but he had to surrender to her knowledge of where her stuff was pretty quickly.  


Driving Hope to daycare gave Brian a chance to really think. He had a wonderful and understanding husband, two beautiful kids, a house in the suburbs, a two-car-garage, hell -- they even had a goddamn white picket fence out back. They had enough money to afford daycare and pediatrician appointments. He’d looked at their calendar and seen that they had a weekend barbecue scheduled with their neighbors and friends, Aaron and Justin. He was living the apple pie life in middle America and he knew that’s what he had always wanted.  


The only thing that wasn’t utterly perfect was him.  


_Your destination is on your left._  


The address had been programmed into the GPS of the car, so he didn’t have to worry that he hadn’t known where the place was. He wasn't ready to admit that he hadn’t known who the woman at the door was either. He unbuckled Hope from her car seat -- which was a process unto itself, manufacturers must really want kids to stay inside these things -- and kissed her goodbye.  
When he looked up, the friendly young woman at the door had been replaced by a middle-aged raggedy lady with dirty hair and wearing a bloody smock. But, like with the girl in the hallway, she wasn’t a threat. In fact, she looked half-dead already. Panic-stricken, Brian’s heart raced and he had to talk himself down again, like with the girl in the hallway. She’s not real. He squeezed his eyes shut, and, just like this morning, when he opened them again, the bloody-smock-woman was gone and the daycare woman had taken her rightful place again.  


.  


When it seemed the worst of his detox was over, the other Brian took him for a walk around the city.  


Boston was big and messy and polluted. It was old and imperfect, and he swore he could still smell tea in the harbor from that revolutionary action of defiance centuries ago. But he also knew the metropolis by heart -- the grunge areas where you could pick up anything you wanted, so long as it was illegal, and the touristy areas where the cops prowled for protection.  


He honestly didn’t know how he’d gotten to this place in his life. He didn’t remember anything. He knew he had parents, siblings too, probably. He had a vague inclination that he’d attended post-secondary education in Boston, but where and for what? 

Had he graduated? He didn’t know. He only knew what the other Brian told him, and Brian Firkus didn’t seem overly fond of talking.  


He _was_ fond of smoking, though, so that’s what they did together. Although a nagging sensation of wrongness did tug at Brian every time he saw Firkus put a cigarette to his mouth-- there was something inherently wrong about the picture. He attributed these feelings to his still not being 100% back to normal, whatever that normal was for him.  


Then he saw the ghost in the fountain and he stopped dead in his tracks.  


“McCook, what the fuck?”  


___He’d just stopped, and stared openly at the fountain in the center of the park. There stood a pallid, half-dead looking woman with dark hair and a blood-stained apron. She looked at Brian and opened her mouth like she was going to say something. He blinked, and she had disappeared.  
_ _ _

___“Dude?!” prodded Firkus, clearly annoyed.  
_ _ _

___McCook shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Ah. Aftershocks, I guess.” He just couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted him to help her. Save her.  
_ _ _

___Firkus looked around, embarrassed of the other Brian. McCook wished he could fold in on himself, wished the ground would swallow him up whole. They returned to the apartment in complete silence, but Brian again stopped dead in his tracks, this time at the sight of a newspaper headline.  
_ _ _

___“Teen Survivor Claims Appalachian Monster Killed His Friends”  
_ _ _

___Brian grabbed the paper without thinking. “Hey, you wanna read it, you gotta buy it, man,” warned the salesman.  
_ _ _

___Firkus groaned like McCook was an annoying dog he had to constantly watch out for. “Dude.”  
_ _ _

___Brian bowed his head and gingerly put the paper back on the rack before nodding at the salesman. He couldn’t stop the one thought rolling over and over in his head. That somehow it was his fault the Appalachian teens got murdered.  
_ _ _

___“Fuckin Bigfoot,” muttered Firkus.  
_ _ _

___“It wasn’t Bigfoot.”  
_ _ _

___“Well, obviously.” Firkus rolled his eyes.  
_ _ _

___“It was a ghoul.”  
_ _ _

___Firkus again gave McCook the ‘you’re fucking insane’ look. McCook pursed his lips. He had no idea where that came from but it was true.  
_ _ _

___Firkus sized him up head to toe. “I can’t tell if this crazy shit is you rolling or you sober.”  
_ _ _

___McCook grunted in frustration. “I haven’t had anything--you’ve been at my hip for the last 18 hours, Brian. When would I have taken something?”  
_ _ _

___“I live with addicts, man,” said Firkus. “I know better than to underestimate you fuckwads.”  
_ _ _

___“Look,” said McCook, grabbing the other’s shoulder and spinning him so they faced each other on the sidewalk in front of the apartment. “I can’t say how, but I know what happened to those kids.”  
_ _ _

___“Of course you do.” Firkus wasn’t even trying to hide his skepticism.  
_ _ _

___McCook balled his hands into fists and looked around. This was really a shit side of town. It was helpful, he guessed, when he was a druggie, but he had more important things to do now. And he couldn’t do those things while living in this shithole. “We can’t stay here anymore.”  
_ _ _

___Firkus arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “And why is that?”  
_ _ _

___“Because we deserve better, Linda!” he whisper-shouted.  
_ _ _

___“Who the fuck is Linda?”  
_ _ _

___“Nevermind that,” his thoughts were scrambling. “There are places for people like us, right? Homes and shit.”  
_ _ _

___“ _Charity_?” scoffed Firkus. “You wanna take charity now?”  
_ _ _

__McCook shrugged, “Unless you had a better idea?”  
_ _

__Firkus blew a string of smoke into the chilly Boston air. “Look, I don’t know if you remember in that fried-ass brain of yours, but you do have a trade.”  
_ _

__It was McCook’s turn to be confused. Firkus pointed to a corner a few streets down. There was a club with neon lights and a colorful woman standing out front in heels. It took him a few seconds before he clocked the hairline underneath and the gap in her top, the padded ass. He spun around to the other Brian, who had lit up what must have been his hundredth cigarette of the day. “Is -- am I a drag queen?”  
_ _

__“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner,” said Firkus dryly. “You crash above that place some nights when you don’t show up to Eddie’s. I hate Eddies anyway, so I crash wherever you do.”__  
McCook’s frantic brain was chugging out a plan at lightning speed. “We’re never going back to Eddie’s.”  


__“M’kay.”  
_ _

__“And I’m gonna put you up in drag.”  
_ _

__“You don’t have to.”  
_ _

__“No, it’s part of the plan--”  
_ _

__“Brian,” he cut off the other. “You don’t have to _put me up_ in drag, because I already do that.”  
_ _

__McCook jerked his head in shock for twenty seconds, trying to imagine Firkus in drag. A wicked grin spread across his face. “Then what are we waiting for?”  
_ _

__  
_ _

__As expected, nothing was wrong with Tracy. She was given a clean bill of health from the pediatrician and was back home by eleven. Brian, on the other hand, on account of his bout of amnesia that morning, had to go and see his psychiatrist for an emergency mental health visit. “Do you want me to come with you, hon?” asked his husband, bouncing Tracy on his knee, making her squeal happily.  
_ _

__Brian shook his head. “This is probably a thing I should do on my own.” He kissed the cheek of his understanding soul mate and then was off on an anxious drive an hour and a half into the city to talk to someone he didn’t know about all the things he didn’t know.  
_ _

__Dr Lara Browne was a pear-shaped woman who wore clothes that looked straight out of the 1970’s and had circular glasses that reminded Brian of Harry Potter. “Hello, Mister Firkus,” she greeted when he entered her office. Her smile was crooked, which made her less intimidating.  
_ _

__He shook her hand. It only seemed right since it was his first meeting with Dr Browne as far as he could remember.  
_ _

__“I understand you’ve had some memory troubles today, Brian,” she said.  
_ _

__He nodded.  
_ _

__“Do you want to tell me some more about that?”  
_ _

__Brian shook his leg anxiously. “How long have you been my psych?”  
_ _

__Dr Browne smiled. “How long do you remember meeting with me for?”  
_ _

__He took a deep breath. This was gonna be a long hour. “Honestly? I don’t.”  
_ _

__“You don’t remember meeting with me at all?” She didn’t sound offended, more morbidly curious. She scribbled a note on the pad in front of her.  
_ _

__Brian shook his head. “I didn’t even remember I was married when I woke up this morning,” he confessed.  
_ _

__“Interesting,” she commented. “Did you recognize the face of the man in the bed next to you?”  
_ _

__“Yes, I did. I knew I knew him. That he was important.” It all came tumbling out. Dr Browne soon abandoned her notepad in favor of folding her hands under her chin as she nodded along to his story, taking in every detail. Well, every detail except the ones he left out: the girl in the hallway and the woman at the daycare. Those, he needed to keep to himself. They’d lock me up for sure.  
_ _

__After a few more questions, it was obvious Brian was becoming more and more nervous, so Dr Browne asked, “Brian, is there something you are concerned about?”  
_ _

__“Are you gonna make me take pills?” The words battled each other, all trying to be the first one out into the open.  
_ _

__Dr Browne smiled and tilted her head. “Well, do you feel like you _need_ medication? Because otherwise I think we can fare quite well with just doing these little chats once a week or so.”  
_ _

__Brian visibly relaxed. Although that commute wasn’t pleasant, he sure felt more comfortable spending 3 hours in the car going to and from Dr Browne’s office once a week as opposed to downing meds that would make him even more out of it than he already was.  
_ _

__He made another appointment for the following week and then braved it through the drive home, trying his best to ignore the ghostly black haired girl sitting in his passenger seat, and the overwhelming feeling that she was in trouble and needed his help.  
_ _

__Brian went home. He hugged his daughter when he walked through the door and helped his husband cook dinner. He sang to their baby until she fell asleep in his arms, then kept singing when she stirred as he laid her down in her crib. He crashed exhausted into his bed, which he shared with the other Brian, and in the dead of night when the baby woke up again, he was the one to roll out of bed and tend to her every need. When she went down again and he heard the shower going in the master bathroom, he joined his husband, in more ways than one. They had long talks together in the early morning, then Hope woke up and they prepared for the new day.  
_ _

__Brian took a sabbatical from work -- as a university theater professor, he wouldn’t be much more help than his TA since he couldn’t remember anything that wasn’t on the syllabus. He answered concerned and questioning emails with simple yet honest explanations. ‘I am having issues with my personal health that make it impossible to be the best professor I can be for you right now. I hope to return soon, but until then my grading will be based largely on papers and projects already listed in detail in the syllabus.’  
_ _

__But no matter how hard he tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling that something was missing -- something about his life was off -- he couldn’t ignore it. The more he tried and failed, the more he noticed the two women plaguing his damaged brain. The young woman. Barely clothed, in tatters. The middle-aged woman. Bloody smock. Both crying out for help.__  
The dreams certainly didn’t console him. It seemed he was awake in them, and trapped somewhere dark. There were chains on his wrists, holding him upright. He could barely feel the floor beneath his naked toes. He was in pain. Somewhere, it was more of a floating burn than a constant, tangible stab. Sometimes he would catch a pair glowing blue eyes, sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes the other Brian was there with him--he only knew it when the other man was making choked, pained squealing noises.  


__He’d awake to reality -- what felt less like reality than his dreams -- his husband shaking him awake to pull him close and protect him from the demons of his unconscious mind. Sometimes he’d whisper about going back to Dr Browne, but Firkus insisted that there was no need. He’d talk to her the next week about it. No need to worry, my love.  
_ _

__He was convincing his soulmate, his everything, that he was getting better -- he even believed it himself by day. But the truth came out at night. It always did. Glowing blue eyes. Chains. Blood.  
_ _

__He was able to muscle through the week until the barbecue with Justin and Aaron. Hope chased a Calico around the back of their house and the second Tracy was through the door, Cerrone was at Brian’s heels, begging to watch after the hairless kitten. It was adorable how the crabby old cat stayed by Tracy’s side always, protective like she was his own.  
_ _

__The other Brian must have told their friends about his lapse in memory. As he was staring in awe at Cerrone and Tracy, Justin came up to him. “This happens every time there’s a baby in the house. Once they get to the grabbing age, he stays away, but while they’re little…”  
_ _

__Both of their spouses were out on the deck, so it was just them, a cat and a baby when Brian asked the question that had been bugging him since he woke up that morning a week ago. “How long have I been married?”  
_ _

__Justin laughed healthily. Brian bit his lip. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Justin comforted. “It’s okay.” Solemly, he examined Brian’s face. Brian got a good look into Justin’s deep brown eyes. “Five years.”  
_ _

__Brian knitted his eyebrows together. “And we already had kids?” he looked to Justin. “That’s kinda fast.”  
_ _

__Justin stroked Cerrone’s back with his pinky finger. “I guess. But I mean, you wanted to settle down, he wanted to settle down. Why wait?” He smiled. “It’s not like any of us are getting any younger.”  
_ _

__The conversation petered off before Justin pursed his lips and asked “Do you really not remember anything?”  
_ _

__Brian rested his head against the wall behind the sofa with a low groan.  
_ _

__“I’m sorry, you don’t want to talk about this--” Justin backtracked.  
_ _

__“No, it’s fine. I just…” He locked eyes with the other man. “Do you ever feel like… like there’s something _wrong_ with... life? With the world?”  
_ _

__Justin looked incredibly confused. He let out a little uncomfortable chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with your life, Brian.” He looked over at Cerrone. He was purring Tracy to sleep while they cuddled.  
_ _

__“No, I mean…” he couldn’t express it, and Justin had taken it the absolute wrong way. “Do you ever feel like… like what you thought you wanted. Wasn’t what you actually wanted?”  
_ _

__Justin shifted uncomfortably. “Brian, I think this is something to talk to your psychiatrist about.”  
_ _

__“I have these dreams, Justin,” he confessed. Justin looked horrified when he told him everything he couldn’t tell his husband. He was starting to panic. Seriously, really panic. “And they seem even more real than this house, or that cat, or even you!”  
_ _

__“Everything okay in here, babe?” asked an obviously concerned Aaron. Brian’s chest tightened. He hadn’t thought he’d raised his voice, but maybe he had.  
_ _

__Justin fake-smiled at his husband. Unspoken couples communication for ‘I’ll tell you later’. Aaron went back to his post outside, and Justin lightly took Brian’s hand. He couldn’t stop thinking how ghostly this touch was, how real the feel of shackles sticking into his skin was. The warm rivulets of blood running down his forearms from where the cuffs had rubbed his skin raw, opening wounds in his flesh.  
_ _

__“Brian, look at your daughter,” Justin implored. “She needs her father on board. Okay? She needs you here, grounded.”  
_ _

__Brian pursed his lips. He was so confused. What Justin was saying made sense, but why couldn’t he connect the dots? Why couldn’t he leave these bad thoughts behind?  
_ _

__“I don’t blame you, _nobody_ blames you, Brian.” Justin’s hand moved up to cup Brian’s cheek. “We. Love. You. You are so important and we understand that what you are going through is hard. But Brian? Don’t shut us out. Please? Don’t try to do this alone, do you hear me?”  
_ _

__Brian nodded slowly.  
__

__He could only eat half of his meal before the smock lady creeped him out enough to go home for an early shower and sleep. He downed a couple Benadryl's, expecting the sedatives to shut down the night visions.  
_ _

__Far from it.  
_ _

In his dream, he felt the cold. He felt the numbness in his fingers and toes. And he heard the increasingly weak whines beside him. He dragged his eyes open, his lashes clinging to each other in an attempt to keep him under. There was a low blue light. 

__Immediately across from him was the woman in the smock. She was also in chains, but she was unconscious. And she was bleeding from her wrists too.__  
The whimpering by his side drew his attention. His neck ached as he forced it to turn toward the source. It was the other Brian. His husband-- no that didn’t feel right anymore. Not here. Not wherever this was.  


__The other Brian wasn’t alone. His eyes and mouth were both wide open, and not two inches from his face, was the face of another. Another man. A heavily tattooed, glowing blue-eyed man, who was literally sucking the life out of the other Brian.  
_ _

__The only thing he could do for his… friend… was faintly whisper a feeble plea. “ _Stop_.”  
_ _

__The tattooed man-- Brian remembered, the djinn-- heard him. Those eyes snapped toward him, his mouth closing, releasing the other Brian from his hold, leaving him panting and coughing.  
_ _

__The djinn advanced straight for him, raising a hand, upon which was an eye, to Brian’s forehead. He felt a searing pain, then a push into blackness. And he was free from the hurt.  
_ _

__But he was imprisoned by the truth._ _


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovering that their realities are, in fact, fantasy, The Brians seek out links to their previous life. Meanwhile the fantasies try to keep them distracted .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to include some trigger warnings for extreme derealization and (kinda?) self injury. It gets worse in the next chapter, but its relatively smooth sailing trigger-wise after that.

The second he was behind the character of Katya again, all Brian’s worries faded away. He just lost himself in his performance, effortlessly kicking ass as his alter ego. The other Brian had Trixie, who was an innocent-looking crass comedian and musician. At the end of the night they made a good two hundred dollars in tips together, enough to rent out the space above the club for the night and the following day.  


Katya finished the night as sober as she thought she’d been in a while, going by the other Brian’s descriptions of him. Trixie, less so. She smelled like alcohol and cigarettes and sweat by the end of the night, and she couldn’t walk a straight line if she was paid to. Just getting her up the stairs, half in and half out of drag was a pain. Katya really didn’t like that. It was wrong in the way that the headline was wrong. Those teens shouldn’t be dead and Trixie shouldn’t be a mess.  


The apartment above the club was a studio, with a tiny TV that Katya didn’t even bother to turn on, a bathroom the size of a closet, a double bed and a beanbag sofa that smelled like piss. The one thing that the apartment did have was a 2008 laptop running on Windows Vista that took a full ten minutes just to boot up. Despite its faults, it default connected to the club’s staff internet, and that was exactly what Katya needed.  


With the other drag queen passed out on the double, Katya was unafraid of being judged. He left the wig on and took off the eye makeup and heels, leaving the rest of him in drag. Heels aside, he felt comfortable in drag. He wondered briefly if he was trans, then remembered how much he liked his dick, and using it. Nope, just a transvestite hooker.  


Firefox finally launched and he was able to go about his late-night research session. It was crazy, but he knew places, dates, people that he had no business knowing. Why would he vaguely remember being at an old hotel in Vermont? The local news reported that a girl had accidentally drowned in the pool a few months ago. But Brian remembered waving at the exact same girl in the rearview mirror after having rescued her from… something. An entire new housing district eaten alive by insects that he directly remembered saving from a Native American curse, despite his and the other Brian’s moral qualms that maybe these white folks deserved to die (seriously, who knowingly builds a subdivision on top of a sacred Native American burial ground?) Ultimately they decided that the needs of the currently living outweighed the vengeful wants of the dead. He even remembered the Forest Ghoul in Appalachia that would leave behind a glade of happy flowers and shrubs, and sprout a hallucinogenic bush in a year, instead of living on to eat five Eagle Scouts alive.  


He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until he heard the other Brian retching in the bathroom. It was hangover o’clock and it only seemed fitting that after his own issues waking up yesterday morning, he kind of owed it to Firkus to nurse him through this.  


He folded a damp towel under the other man’s head -- the gender lines on Firkus weren’t even blurry at this point, they were downright nonexistent -- and gently asked how he was doing. Firkus groaned in response.  


“Hey, there’s a drug store down the street. I was gonna pick up some essentials, you want me to bring you some Tylenol?”  


The other Brian grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave me.” He was surprised to hear the words come from the man’s mouth. He was such an independent, take-no-shit personality that his show of vulnerability set McCook off guard.  


But he didn’t have to be asked twice. He sat with his back to the sink and just lightly held the other Brian’s hand as he sweated and groaned and gagged. “Like seriously, Brian, a couple of over-the-counters, some OJ and toast would make this so much easier.”  


This time, the other Brian seemed more lucid,and he released the other man from the titanium grip he had on his arm. “Come back soon.” His voice was barely audible.  


McCook slowly stood, placing a gentle kiss on his kinda-sorta-but-not-really-boyfriend’s head before he dressed up in boy clothes, grabbed the key the club owner had given him, and headed toward the mom-and-pop drugstore.  


Someone was waiting for him at the corner. It took him a few seconds to recognize the guy, since the last Brian had seen him he had been passed out so hard Brian had questioned his status as alive or not. “Eddie?” he guessed.  


Eddie did not look pleased. “Jill said she overheard you sayin’ some shit.”  


Brian stood his ground. “What kinda shit?” Of the two of them, Eddie looked the worst. And Brian was still wearing half of last night’s lipstick and eyeliner. He likely looked like an effeminate raccoon.  


Eddie, on the other hand, was sweaty and yellow under a coat of ashy foundation that was two shades too dark for him. Brian could only guess that Jill was the equally unconscious girl from Eddie’s apartment yesterday.  


“She said you were thinkin’ of leaving our little family and taking your boy-toy with you.” He narrowed his eyes. His voice sounded like actual snot, like God had anthropomorphized the trashcan of an influenza victim.  


Brian tilted his head and rested his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. “And is that a problem?”  


Eddie took a step toward Brian, pointing at him threateningly. “Yeah, it’s a fucking problem, McCook.”  


This time it was Brian stepping towards him. He wasn’t the tallest guy, but he was a good head taller than Eddie, and as he looked down on the other man, he knew this was a fight he was going to win. “What are you gonna do, Eddie? Hm? Tell me to come back? I’m done. Both of us are done. We’ve suffered enough at your den of iniquity.” _Did I really just say ‘den of iniquity'? Fuck it_.  


Eddie’s eyes flashed with anger. “You owe me cash, McCook.”  


“Show me the receipts,” Brian dared. “I owe you drug money? Fucking fine. You’ll get it. I’m done here.” He pushed past the man without having to extend much effort. Under his baggy T shirt, Eddie was a stick figure, wasting away in an apartment Brian never wanted to see the inside of again.  


...  


“What took you so long?” croaked the other Brian when he’d returned to the studio.  


He rolled his eyes. “Had a run in with our old landlord,” he dismissed while pouring orange juice into a solo cup. The packet of Tylenol was a trouble to get open, but when he did, the first thing he did was watch Firkus down two and chase it with OJ.  


“You shouldn’t fuck with him, Brian,” said Firkus softly. He looked up at the other man. “He’s dangerous.”  


McCook scoffed. “He’s 85 pounds!” ( 38 kg for you metric users)  


Firkus achingly pulled himself off the floor. “He may not be the beefcake he once was, but he’s still got ties,” he explained, his tone almost begging.  
He didn’t know if this was a thing they did, but McCook put his hands on either side of the other man’s jaw. He wasn’t sweating as much as he had been, but his color was still off. He stiffened at the tough initially, then relaxed and let their eyes connect. It was intimate in a way McCook suspected they hadn’t been, hadn’t let themselves be. You don’t look deeply into the eyes of your nsa fuck buddy and search through the card catalog of their soul.  


“Brian,” leveled McCook seriously. “I’m not gonna let him brown-beat and bully us around like we’re his prisoners.”  


Firkus looked away. “You don’t remember.”  


“Of course I don’t.” McCook shook his head. “What is it about Eddie that you didn’t tell me?”  


It took the other a good fifteen seconds to respond; it felt like hours to McCook’s charging mind. _Eddie’s a serial killer? He’s a cop in disguise? He’s secretly Batman_?  


“His dad’s the head of the Boston mafia.”  


Brian’s jaw dropped past the cheap tile, through the club floor to the goddamn basement. “What?!”  


“I’m kidding.”  


McCook wheezed and slabbed Firkus’ arms in surprise and relief as the other tried to laugh without the pounding in his head getting worse. “Why do people never get when I’m joking?!”  


“Because of your _sub-saharan_ deadpan delivery!” McCook uttered between bouts of choking, wheezy laughter.  


After they had calmed down, McCook smacked Firkus’ arm again. “No -- but why should I be afraid of Eddie?”  


“Oh,” said Firkus. “Uh, I dunno, because he’s an addict and he’s unpredictable and I’m almost positive he owns a gun.”  


The other chuckled, but not as hard. Firkus wasn’t joking this time and the idea of an emotional guy with an inferiority complex, access to illicit substances and a firearm wasn’t one that settled well.  


“I should go over there,” said McCook after a while. “Get an estimate of how much I owe so I can start paying him back.”  


“ _Owe_?” asked Firkus. “We don’t _owe_ that fuckwit anything.”  


“He seems to think we do,” said McCook with a shrug. “Or at least I do.”  


“Um,” he said. “I don’t know about you but I made sure to get it on video that day that I woke up at Eddie’s for the first time that I would be paying in…” he pursed his lips and averted his gaze from his kinda-sorta-but-not-technically-boyfriend. 

He cleared his throat. “Alternative means.”  


“I don’t know,” said McCook, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t remember getting that kind of evidence. You’re really smart to have done that.”  


Without a better option, McCook resolved to head over to the apartment and get an estimate from Eddie. When he arrived, however, it was Jill who answered and ushered him in. “Eddie’s out on a grocery run for tonight,” she explained in a tired voice. He pursed his lips. Eddie probably wouldn’t be returning with Tostitos and nacho cheese.  


Jill, it turned out, was one hell of an accountant and Eddie kept all his documents and receipts in order. It took the girl twenty minutes to suss out how many nights he’s spent at the apartment, what his share was when divided evenly among the other accounted for customers, subtract a percentage for his dues paid in ‘personal favors’ (he couldn’t help but think of the other Brian’s payment plan when she mentioned that) and arrived at a total that made his eyebrows arch in surprise.  


“You’re lucky he’s not here,” warned Jill in a low voice.  


Brian couldn’t stop blinking at the receipt. “I…” he breathed.  


“A smart guy once told me we were all Eddie’s toys, that we had to protect each other. I didn’t believe it at the time, but you showed me, didn’t you?” She smiled, a sad, knowing smile. Brian couldn’t speak.  


“Besides,” Jill added. “You were always my favorite,” she shrugged, then looked up at him. “I’m sad to see you go.”  


They just stared at one another. For a long time. And Brian regretted his lost memories of this lovely human being. What had they shared? What secrets had she told him, had he confided in her?  


Jill’s phone went off and she shot up straight. “He’s on his way home. You should go.”  


As she ushered him out the door, Brian caught her in a tight hug, and found that she melted into it. “You’re gonna catch hell for this aren’t you?” he whispered into her hair. She didn’t respond, only held him tighter, as if it was going to be the last hug of her life. When she begrudgingly pulled away, there were wet spots on his shirt and smeared mascara on her lids.  


He looked down at the receipt again as he headed back to the studio.  


Balance Due: $ 00.00  


.  


“Mr Firkus,” Dr Browne pulled him out of his head. He’s been spending much more time up there than usual, and his family was growing tired of it.  
“

Mr Firkus,” she said again. “What do you think brought this on?”  


He’d completely lost track of whatever this conversation had been about. He could have interpreted that as him getting worse and maybe he needed the meds after all, but now that he was certain it didn’t matter, he’d pretty much stopped trying to hide how out of it he truly was. “I’m sorry, what brought what on?”  


Dr Browne smiled. “It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes level intellect to notice how unfocused you have been with me today, Brian.”  


He shrugged.  


“Can you think back to the last time you felt really present in the moment?”  


_Present in the moment_?  


“I know it sounds silly, but what I mean is, when was the last time you felt like your life was entirely your own?”  


His neck snapped up. He half expected her to have glowing blue eyes and full-body tattoos. She smiled, like she’d won something. He guessed she had.  


“Did I strike a nerve?”  


Brian remained silent.  


“I get it,” she said, then backtracked. “No, I don’t fully identify with your position, but I have seen clients whose minds have just completely shut off all memories, not just of trauma, but of anything that could be construed as trauma. You’re left with people expecting you to behave a certain way that you probably wouldn’t if you hadn’t learned from your past mistakes and life lessons. They feel powerless, like they have just been dropped into a life that isn’t theirs, that they wouldn’t have picked for themselves.”  


Her words were cotton against the searing pain, telling him it was okay. If this speech had come last week, he’d be giving it serious consideration. Then he reminded himself of the blood and chains and pain waiting for him on the flip side of this fucked up apple pie reality. It wasn’t reality. It was too nice -- too pleasant. It wasn’t real. And there were big problems in the Real World, which he needed to get back to so he could save himself, the others in chains: the butcher’s wife, the local college girl who had gone missing, probably others who were imprisoned in that basement that he couldn’t see in that dim space.  


He needed to wake up, he just didn’t know how.  


“Brian? If you don’t start answering me, I’m going to have to tell your husband that you were unresponsive in our session.” She didn’t say it in a manipulative way, more of an understanding way. She didn’t want to tell the other Brian, but it was her job to do so if she saw it as necessary.  


He didn’t blame her for saying it, but that didn’t mean he handled it well. “You can't do that!” he snapped.  


“Then tell me,” she sat back in her chair. “What happened?”  


He had to come up with something. A lie, but one that was kinda true so she wouldn’t see the difference. “I… had a… _vivid_. Flashback.”  


“To the accident?”  


He nodded.  


“What happened?”  


He looked away. “I can’t remember. But… it felt real… _really_ real…”  


“More so than your current situation?”  


He nodded.  


“And when did this flashback happen, exactly?”  


Brian fidgeted. He’d hoped he could have just stopped at the flashback part but it was obvious Dr Browne was gonna lead him down this path for the last 20 minutes of their session. They were getting too close to the truth; he had to veer her off course. “The night of our last session.”  
T

hat got her thinking. Eventually she said, “The work we do here can stir up a lot of things, Brian. This kind of thing does happen, often after really intense sessions.”  


“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”  


“Does it?”  


“Nope.”  


Dr Browne chuckled. “Then it was merely supposed to be a fact.”  


He held it together for the rest of the session, but where he was supposed to take an exit out to the suburbs and back home, Brian kept going in the direction of downtown. He found a deserted parking lot.  


He kept a swiss army knife in his glove box. It wasn’t ideal, but this was the only way to be absolutely certain which reality was the true reality. He closed his eyes and jabbed the point into his forearm.  


It didn’t hurt. He looked down and found that he had poked a hole in his skin but it wasn’t bleeding. The wound itself was actually pretty, and looked more like a mole, freckle or skin tag than ugly, damaged flesh. How was that realistic?  


Brian scrubbed at his troubled brow with a closed fist. So it was true, that this car, his therapist, this world wasn’t real. But how could he return to the other world? The one where he was being tortured? Couldn’t he just stay here, in Happy Town, and live out a blissful ignorance until the djinn drained him dry?  


Then he felt -- _sensed_ \-- a feather-light, not-there tap on his shoulder. He turned to his passenger seat and found College Girl, looking especially ghostly and longing tonight.  


He didn’t realize he was crying until he tried to speak. “Why? Why should I wake up?” There was a family photo of the four of them taped to his dashboard. Everyone was so happy. He was so happy.  


She shakily raised her pallid, opalescent hand, light glinting off of and through it like a prism. She raised it to his face, and he closed his eyes just in time for her to rest her fingers on his lids.  


He heard her whisper one word before he felt himself being pulled away from this reality, somewhere dark and unvisited in the recesses of his mind.  
“ _Remember.”_

__

Trixie and Katya were a recurrent act at the club, and they pretty much owned the studio above. Performing every night, saving and pooling their tips to hopefully snag an apartment far away from the weird and unpredictable Eddie, things were going really well.  


Except Katya knew there was something else he was supposed to be doing.  


“I just know that I -- we, actually, the two of us -- we’re supposed to be doing bigger things! Saving people from things they can’t explain--”  


“Jesus, Kat, how many times do I have to tell you we are _not_ the real ghostbusters!”  


They were helping to clean out the club after closing, since it was flu season and 60% of the regular employees were dead to the world. Amazingly, neither Brian had caught the virus.  


_bang!_  


Katya thought the sound was her slamming a chair upside-down on a table. Until she heard Trixie gasp loudly, yelling from behind the bar, “Don’t!”  


Katya arched an eyebrow and turned, “Don’t what?”  


But when she saw Trixie’s face, it was clear she hadn’t been talking to her fellow queen.  


Then a sick, familiar, throat-snotty voice churned Katya’s stomach. The voice and the smell of copper he carried on his clothes. “I’m not fucking joking.”  


It took the both of them a few seconds to interpret his meaning, since his speech was so weirdly altered. Not slurred like drunk, slurred like…  


Katya’s stomach pooled with dread.  


“Eddie, what did you take?” she made sure to keep her voice as even as possible, as if he were a wild animal. She turned slowly too, careful to make no sudden movements. She knew for a fact there was a panic button behind the bar. She really hoped Trixie hit that shit.  


When she did turn, Eddie looked worse than he ever had. If he’d been a twig a few weeks ago, now he was a walking skeleton. His cheeks sunken in, nose protruding, pants falling off his hips with nothing to keep them there. He wore grey trackpants and a greasy gas station green T shirt, both of them splattered with blood. Not brand new, but fresh enough not to have faded to brown yet. Katya felt sick.  


He waved something at her. _Oh yeah_ , Katya realized.  
_He’s holding a gun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted June 5, 2017 to AQ. Thank you for the Kudos and lovely comments.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does the ghost want Brian(Trixie) to remember? Can Brian(Katya) stop a drugged-up, homicidal Eddie from shooting up the club? Will they wake up in time to save themselves and the other prisoners from the djinn before it’s too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one’s gonna get pretty intense, so be warned, babes. Grab yourself some chamomile, you’re gonna need it. Tw for death… Not Shakespearean level death, more… well, Supernatural level death. Also TW for allusion to suicide.

He remembered everything. 

Everything from his real life, not the manufactured perfect life the djinn had conjured up from his deepest held desires. This was flesh and blood and pain. This was real. 

Brian Firkus watched through his own eyes again as he wandered back to his dorm after rehearsal had gone late. He remembered that the elevator was out of service when he got back and he had to climb four flights of stairs on feet already blistering from drilling them with choreographed dance moves. 

He remembered that it wasn’t weird that the door was open because his hall had agreed to an open door policy. It seemed like a good idea at the time. They’d had a student die in their dorm without being found for hours. If they’d been found, the authorities said, they likely could have been saved. 

Looking back, Brian guessed that’s where the hero complex started. Righteous anger prompting action. That incident had happened to a complete stranger on a different floor, still he and his dorm-mates had felt spurred into action, to make sure this would never be repeated. Then tonight happened. 

He remembered it in flashes. He saw the shoes of his roommate Kim, a lovely gender-nonconforming person, on the floor of their shared room. The rest of Kim’s body was shielded by a figure, which was bent over them. He remembered the awful guttural chewing sounds it made. 

Brian had stopped dead in his tracks. The… whatever it was, was red and had an arching back. It looked like an oversized gollum. And it was _eating_ Kim Chi. 

He was frozen, and the thing turned around slowly, having heard the door swing completely open. Brian tasted sour in his mouth. Its eyes weren’t right, but he recognized the face as Kim’s best friend (and possibly boyfriend) Davis. 

It would have eaten him too, if it weren’t for a certain gymnast breaking through the fourth story window with silver-toed stiletto boots. He hadn’t noticed then that Katya was actually a dude in drag, but his immediate thought was, _I’m getting my ass saved by Real Life Buffy._

She slammed through the window and promptly face-kicked The Thing, sending it shrieking back, its face steaming, filling the place with a pungent sulfur smell. From her back she pulled a truly badass-looking sword, which reflected the moonlight streaming in from the broken window behind her, giving it an angelic glow. When the-thing-that-looked-like-Davis whipped to its feet in wrath, Katya swung her blade, which sang as it ripped apart the very air on its way toward the monster. 

At first it dodged and weaved, but Katya must have been expertly trained because every move the thing made sent it further toward the exact place she wanted it: the corner. 

When she had it literally cornered, that gorgeous sword arced in the air and Brian heard it scrape the wall open on its way to and from either side of the monster’s neck. 

It crumbled into coarse, ashy dirt before it even hit the ground. 

Katya glanced at Brian proudly. “Oh, hi. I’m--” she was about to approach him for a handshake when her boot caught on what was left of Kim Chi. 

Brian gagged and bent over at his waist, starting to dry heave. 

He heard Katya pull out her phone and start talking in a code he didn’t yet understand. “Yeah, I’m calling in a successfully terminated killer whale. One unfortunate SeaWorld employee and a traumatized audience of one. So far.” 

Brian was hyperventilating and his lips were going numb when Katya put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He found strength buried somewhere inside him and he let Katya guide him out of the hall, away from the gory sight. 

He remembered that she took him on a walk and talk. She did most of the talking. He didn’t remember really the exact conversation, but at some point in the night or morning he’d clocked that she was wearing a wig and pancake makeup. She’d smiled and explained that fighting in drag felt right and good, like she was beating back the forces of darkness and the patriarchy at the same time. He remembered because he wanted to kiss her in that moment. 

He remembered that Katya had tried to convince him to go back to his regular life and Brian flew into such a righteous rage that it frightened the monster hunter. “You tell me there are things that eat people -- that ate _my friend_ \-- and now you wanna tell me to go back to my ignorant life where one of those _things_ could attack me or someone I love any second?! No, fucker!” 

He’d demanded Katya show him how to fight monsters. She told him he’d likely have to never contact his friends or family again. That he’d have to abandon his degree. That monster hunting is not a safe or secure or long-lived career. Still he insisted. “Teach me.” 

So she did. 

She taught him that what had attacked his roommate had been a ghoul, a monster that had skyrocketed in numbers due to, at the time, unknown reasons. It turned out to be a ghoul growing season and Kim’s friend Davis had likely been killed days or weeks before and replaced by a ghoul who had been imitating him until he got time alone with Kim. He was supposed to kill Kim so they could be used as a ghoul too, but Katya broke that chain with her badass magic sword. 

With that sword she taught him how to defend himself from attackers, though he could never manage a blade as well as he found he could a gun. He had been anti-gun back in college, but that was one of the many things he found quickly changed about himself. 

The first time he faced off against a ghost and fired a salt round through its face, he knew. He felt exactly right with the world. He knew this was where he belonged. He remembered Katya’s maniac and proud grin afterward, the pat on the back and the celebratory drinks she ordered for them after the job was done and the bones salted and burned. Hers was virgin, of course, and she finally explained her backstory of addiction in detail. Brian felt like he’d finally been let into some special and secretive club, a place where he could truly belong, at the side of someone who believed in him. 

She taught him hand-to-hand combat after a close call with a raith. That training involved a lot of working out, especially together. Many a sweaty pause passed where Brian wondered if the other man (sometimes a woman), his trainer, his gateway into the world of monster hunting, was going to finally kiss him or not. 

When it became clear the other was mad for him as well, he rolled his eyes and asked why McCook hadn’t just gone for it one of the many times he had the chance. 

McCook had to explain that hunters couldn’t afford attachments. People die. Hunters die. Your friends die. Don’t get attached, you don’t get hurt. McCook’s gaze clouded over with painful recollections when he explained the truth they lived. 

Relationships between hunters could never work because one would always be concerned about how the other was fairing in battle against the dark forces, instead of focusing on the damn job. Brian guessed he understood, but it still begged the question, what was the point of living a life where you weren’t allowed to love? 

“Because,” was the answer of the esteemed hunter. “We give others the gift of seeing their loved ones live. We suffer so they can fall in love and get happy ever after and not get devoured by a sewer demon, ghoul or vampire.” 

Again, it made sense, but that didn’t mean, deep down, Brian Firkus actually believed that. 

The memories pulled away and he found himself in a void with only the spectral College Girl. “You remember now.” Her voice was a whisper but he heard her in his mind. After all, Brian realized, she was conjured by his mind. “Why you fight. So fight, Brian.” 

The void crept in, blacking her out until Brian was completely alone. 

_Fight._ _____ 

“Eddie,” Katya held out her hand, palm facing the tweaked-out gunman. She slowly made her way out from behind the table she had been stacking chairs on to face him with her whole padded and corseted body. “Why are you here?” she asked smoothly, slowly. 

He shuddered. “You otta fuckin’ know.” He sneered. 

His teeth had mad rot going on. Katya wondered briefly what he’d been hitting that had him deteriorate so fast. “Okay, Eddie, who’se blood is that?” she asked of his splattered clothes. 

Eddie kept the gun raised, but flinched, looking away. Did that mean he regretted his actions? wondered Katya. Could he be pulled back from the brink? “Eddie, are you in trouble?” 

He nodded stiffly, still avoiding eye contact. 

Katya took one slow step toward him. “Stop!” She heard Trixie hiss from behind the bar. 

Eddie’s head snapped up and he pointed the gun at Trixie instead. She was out of Katya’s eyeline but she knew just how white the other queen must be. How scared. Katya felt a rush of protectiveness and all she wanted to do was jump in between Trixie and Eddie. 

Eddie’s arm was scrawny, but locked ramrod straight as he pointed the barrel of the gun directly at Trixie’s face. “Aight. You’re gonna empt… you’re g-- you’re gonna empty the rregistrr,” His mouth was disobeying him. Katya could see confusion gather behind his eyes, followed by frustration, and quickly, anger. 

_Not good. Very not good._

Many things happened at once. Katya noticed it all as time seemed to slow around her. 

Eddie’s neck muscles tensed. 

His finger squeezed the trigger. 

A _bang!_

Vomit erupted from Eddie’s mouth. 

He keeled over. 

The gun fell from his limp hand. 

He hit the ground. 

Trixie whimpered. 

Katya spun around, time speeding back up again. She lept across the club in a single bound. She watched as Trixie stumbled back against the booze cabinet, her hands clutching the right side of her chest. Her knees gave out as she kept clutching her top. Katya noticed with a pang that where Trixie had stumbled against the cabinet she had left a runny red stain behind. 

“Trix? Trixie, Brian, baby no, no no no.” 

Katya managed to catch her before she hit the ground and gently cradled the other’s shoulders as she gagged and coughed on her own blood. There were tears streaming down Trixie’s painted face. She looked scared. Katya’s hands shook as she went to remove Trixie’s hands from her chest wound. 

It was in the wrong place. 

Goddammit. 

The heart was on the left side. Eddie had shot her on the right. Her lung was filling with blood. She wouldn’t quickly and painlessly pass away before she were to hit the ground; Trixie was gonna drown in her own blood. It was going to hurt. And it would be all Katya’s fault. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Katya rocked Trixie like a child. Neither could speak. All Trixie could do was choke and cry and bleed. All Katya could do was cry, and rock, and let her tears drop onto her lover’s fake hair. 

Time passed. 

Trixie’s body relaxed. 

Katya was on autopilot. Her best friend, her boyfriend, the only person in this world that mattered, was dead, as was his murderer. A thought seed sprouted in her mind. She lay her friend’s body gently on the floor. 

She stood up. 

She walked over to where Eddie lay motionless, reeking of vomit. He’d asphyxiated, no doubt. _Byvayet_. 

The gun lay a few feet from the hand that had pulled the trigger. 

Katya didn’t know much about the world of firearms, but there was a button on the side of the handgun. It wasn’t a trigger. She pressed it. A cartridge fell from the handle, which she caught and examined. It was a palm-sized rectangle with a see-through plastic screen on one side. There was one bullet left in the cartridge. 

Sirens approached. 

He didn’t think. 

He just acted.

_____

Brian Firkus came around to the grinding sound of a chainsaw. There was a squishy tearing sound, then a vaguely familiar cry of victory. 

He heard footsteps banging their way down their way to the basement and he felt his spirit soar. He let himself hope, beyond a hope, for rescue. 

Three things happened at once: Justin Honard opened the basement door while holding a chainsaw, the basement filled with light, and Brian McCook woke up. 

Firkus wanted to be overjoyed. They’d made it -- both of them! And they were being rescued by the very hunters they had fought alongside, the ones they had made fast friends with. But the other Brian was crying, confused. He didn’t seem to know what was going on. 

He tried to move his leg to nudge his hunting buddy, but his leg cried out. His feet and calves had swollen. Blood had drained down there and not moved for-- how long had they been down here? 

“Guys!” Justin exclaimed with joy when he saw them. He called out to his own partner, Aaron. “Dude! They’re down here!” 

His partner sprinted his way down the steps, taking them two at a time. his white-blonde hair dirtied with ash and rubble and deep blue ink. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the people strung up to the ceiling by their wrists. “Fuck.” 

They made quick work of freeing the worst looking victims first while phoning HQ at the same time, calling for medical assistance. Justin came over to Firkus first, asking if he was okay. He wasn’t okay. Something was itching at the back of his mind, like when he’d been in the fantasy. They were missing something important. 

“Did you kill it?” asked McCook in a scratchy voice. “Did you kill the djinn?” 

Justin smiled and held up something on a small cable attached to his trusty chainsaw. Firkus thought at first it was a glove, before he realized it was a dismembered grey hand, lined with blue tattoos, and had an open eye on its palm. Justin smiled darkly as he showed off his trophy. “He was expecting baby knives dipped in animal blood,” he said smugly and lovingly patted his trusty chainsaw. “He wasn’t expecting Shredder.” 

Now the Brians remembered why one hunting excursion with Justin and Aaron was enough: these guys were dark as fuck. And Justin was the tame one! Firkus cast his glance toward Aaron, who had a see-through grocery net slung over his back that was dripping inky, blue-black ooze from -- yup! The disembodied head of the male djinn. Firkus squeezed his eyes closed. _Crazy fuckers._

McCook shook his head despite the ache behind his brows. “What about the other one?” he asked. “What about Big Mama?” 

The itch in Firkus’ mind came into razor sharp focus. 

Justin raised a confused eyebrow. Aaron turned around, a similar expression painted across his face. “Who’s Big Mama?” 

There was a sound that was like a hive of angry bees, and it built into a low growl of wrath and pain. They all turned to the far side of the basement, where an enormously pregnant female djinn crouched, her eyes ablaze with blue and white flame, her teeth bared and her hands gnarled into claws. 

Justin’s vocal fry harmonized with Big Mama’s guttural growl. “I’mmmmmm, guessing thaaaaaat’s Big Mamaaaaaaaa…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byvayet-- Russian for ‘it happens’. I used google translate, don’t hold me to that.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We gotta defeat Big Mama, but Brian (Trixie) has something in mind that will shock and confuse and frankly weird-out his friends. Plus, we’ve got some emotional cleanup to do. It’s the last 10 minutes of a Supernatural episode, basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're still pretty dark around here. I'm playing by the cartoonish rules that if gore isn't red it doesnt count as gore. This one's slightly shorter, but ch 7 is 6 thousand words.

She just stood there, half-crouched and nude, growling threateningly but not moving. Her thick hair hung like cables in messy braids around her face. 

Aaron jerked his hand to turn on his trusty flamethrower. 

“Aaron, no!” whisper-screamed Firkus. 

The other man turned to him questioningly. All four hunters knew just how intense a mama bear could be, and how quickly she could pounce. But Aaron trusted him, and stood down. 

“Justin,” Firkus hissed through his teeth. “Queen of Hearts.” 

Justin knitted his brows together for a couple of seconds as he tried to unwind Firkus’ code. The it hit him. He met Firkus’ gaze and nodded. He turned to Aaron. “Secure us.” 

Aaron sidestepped, his footfalls feather-light, to block the one door in and out of the basement. His finger was always on the dial of his weapon. 

McCook shrieked theatrically, drawing the attention of Big Mama Djinn. Her head snapped his way, giving Justin an opening. 

The hunter moved lightning fast, his chainsaw whirring to life. By the time she turned toward the sound, the spinning blade was arcing toward her neck. 

She was out of time to react. There was the sound of spinning blades and rending of flesh. 

When her body fell, Justin grabbed the right hand and went to take a second trophy. “Hang on,” said Firkus. Justin looked back at him, his face splattered with inky, blue-black blood. Brian surprised everyone when he asked Justin to “Bring her over here.” 

Confused as to what Firkus wanted, he went to grab a chunk of the braids around her head, no longer attached to her body. 

“No,” he corrected. “I want the body.” 

Gingerly, Justin grabbed a heavily tattooed and limp arm, unceremoniously and effortlessly dragging the 150lb (almost 70 kg for you metric users) body over to his friend. 

Brian looked to Aaron by the door. “Silver dagger?” 

The other hunter, though he preferred never to get too close to the monsters, did have the hand-to-hand necessities oh him, and he tossed a pure silver blade onto the cement beside Firkus. 

What could they expect Brian to do? Cut himself off a finger or, like Justin, a whole hand? Justin and Aaron had a whole storage unit full of weird occult memorabilia, but the Brians had never been into the trophy-collecting hobby of their friends. 

So what could they have expected? Not this. They couldn’t have expected Firkus sinking the knife into and around the underside of the pregnant belly. The three hunters watched wide-eyed as their friend performed an actual post-mortem cesarean section on the female djinn’s corpse and, when the incision was wide enough, stuck his hand inside of her. 

The baby was in fetal position, ready to be born. She was head down, feet up, part of her head already stuck in the birth canal. “So that’s why she didn’t attack properly,” Firkus muttered as he tugged her head free, though she remained inside the residual warmth of her mother. 

“What?” asked Justin, half amazed and half disgusted by the other man’s actions. 

“Didn’t you think it was weird?” Firkus asked, completely blazzee as he widened the incision and pulled the abdomen clean open, revealing the little girl inside of her egglike cocoon. 

“Think what was weird?” prompted Aaron. 

The cold outside air finally hit the baby’s skin and she coughed and started to cry. It was a rising, living sound that tugged at the animal instincts of everyone there, including the half-dead captives. Those who could fluttered their eyelids at the sound, looking for the young one in need. Firkus pulled off his jacket. It was crusted with blood and sweat on the arms, but it would have to do. He found the cleanest part, and used that to lift the baby girl right out of her mother. He used a dirty shoelace to tie off the umbilical cord before slicing through the gentle tissue with the silver dagger. 

McCook, who had been watching every single action his partner made, filled the other hunters in. “She couldn’t attack because she couldn’t move.” His words carried so little emotion Aaron and Justin had to look closely to make sure McCook had, in fact, spoken. He only met their eyes for a half second before he went back to staring at nothing. “She was in labor.” 

Whatever had happened in McCook’s world while he was held by the djinn, Justin and Aaron knew it must have been something big and awful to break such a free spirit. The men looked at each other and knew, without saying a word, that they weren’t going to be leaving The Brians sides no matter what HQ said. 

Aaron got a text. “Okay,” he told the room of three hunters, six barely-alive and newly-freed captives and a newborn. “Help is eight minutes away.” He approached what was left of the female djinn. “Anyone else want something to remember today by?” 

Four sets of eyes turned to the fidgeting, whining thing in Firkus’ arms. It appeared the tattoos were a later addition, as under the goop of her messy birth, the baby girl looked incredibly… human. 

Aaron turned his dial and roasted what was left of the djinn. 

They wouldn’t be forgetting this day. 

_____ 

“Sir, I really have to advise against this,” said the third EMT. 

Brians Firkus and McCook both refused medical attention, other than the cleaning and dressing of the open wounds on their wrists. It was never something they consented to when possible. They had seen too much, been through too much together, to be separated, sanitized and psychoanalyzed in a hospital for days on end. 

It had taken the pleadings of Justin, Aaron and the quiet support of the other Brian to get Firkus to hand over the baby to be examined and cleaned. He refused to tell the emergency responders what had happened to the mother other than a gruff ‘she’s gone’ and a death stare. He let them run what tests they could while he hovered three feet away like a shadow. Her lungs were fully functioning, heartbeat was strong and weight sturdy, but the second the emergency medical technicians suggested taking the baby to the hospital, Firkus snatched her back with a strength unprecedented from a man who could only shakily walk. 

The other Brian wasn’t in a much more stable condition. Between staring blankly and sobbing uncontrollably without explanation, he didn’t offer much. Justin was always at his side when the sobbing happened, whispering comforting nothings that were lost on the traumatized man. He was strong enough to refuse medical treatment along with his partner. The EMTs looked to Justin and Aaron for help, but the two merely shrugged and said, “You’ve got six other victims to worry about. We’ve got these two, you can leave them alone.” 

When the last of the victims was tended to and last of the ambulances had left around the bend, the hunters hung their heads and smiled slightly with the knowledge that their job was done. Officially, at least. 

Justin pulled his arms across his chest, stuffing his cold hands in his armpits. He looked at Aaron and saw his breath billowing in front of his face. He said to The Brians, each off in their individual worlds, “Hey, we’re gonna go heat up the hearse so you two don’t freeze. Can you wait here for like fifteen minutes?” 

McCook stared blankly and patted the space heater the EMTs had left for them. Firkus held the baby closer to the heater in her powder pink blanket, also courtesy of the EMTs. 

As they were walking away, Aaron shook his head, his hair still flecked with dark blue. “What… the fuck did we witness, Justin?” 

Justin shrugged, keeping his ungloved hands shoved in his coat pockets. “What did _they_ witness?” 

Their conversation died off until they reached Justin’s now ancient hearse. He’d always been sentimental, and never subtle -- neither of them had. The Old Girl was racking up thirty-five years of service. Half of that was Justin lugging her all around the North American continent, plus that one trip to Peru in 2012(he and Aaron went down south to drink tequila and watch the world burn; they were pretty disappointed when life labored on as usual). How Justin had managed to keep the OG going for this long was still a mystery to Aaron. All his partner had ever offered was ‘I know a guy from Kansas who’s an ace mechanic. He’s been driving a 60’s muscle car for decades.’ 

As the heating wheezed on and spouted only cold air, Aaron turned the vents down so they wouldn’t freeze themselves. He stowed his and Justin’s trophies in an icebox in the storage compartment of the vehicle and wondered what help the two of them could possibly offer the mentally-shaken hunters. He dragged his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “What are we gonna do?” he asked the water vapor in the air. 

Justin exhaled into his hands and rubbed them together. “Whatever they need us to.” 

Aaron coughed. “They aren’t the kind of guys to actually communicate what they need.” Justin hung his head, knowing his partner was right. “Neither are we for that matter.” Aaron pulled out a crunched box of cigarettes from the glove compartment. 

Justin’s shoulders slumped when he saw Aaron open the box. “Seven weeks, man.” 

Aaron scoffed and rolled his eyes. He pulled out the BIC lighter from his pack. 

Justin swatted it out of his hand. “At least not in here,” he argued. “There’s gonna be a baby in this car and if the cold air doesn’t give her asthma the secondhand smoke sure as hell will.” 

Justin’s pointed tone and demanding eyes forced Aaron to submit. He quietly stowed the box and the lighter, then checked the vents. Still cold as fuck. 

The two sat in thoughtful silence until Justin spoke. “That baby is gonna need so much. Formula, diapers -- I heard you can buy breast milk online but that sounds super sketchy.” He shook his head. The other man had nothing to add, so he remained silent. 

Justin rested his cheek on his fist. “We’re out of our element here, Aar.” 

The other simply nodded. 

“We need help.” 

With those three words, the two instantly looked to one another, sharing the same memory with that psychic link that came from knowing someone for so many years. \---

_“No, really, I mean it,” said Michelle. Not behind a monitor or on the other end of a phone line. Flesh and blood, sitting in Aaron and Justin’s hotel room on one of the two queen beds. She was dressed in a trench coat and sunglasses. She pulled a scrap of paper out of one of her many coat pockets and pressed it into Justin’s hand. “You’re gonna need my help some day soon. Reach me by this number when the day comes.”_

_She pulled Justin down by his chin so she could reach his forehead to kiss it. It felt like he was being blessed with holy protection._

_To Aaron she turned and embraced tightly. She whispered into his ear. “Keep each other safe, okay?” He nodded and she clutched him tighter. “No, promise me.”_

_“I promise.” It came out so faint he was surprised Michelle could even make it out. S_

_he kissed his forehead as well, and all of a sudden Aaron was completely overcome with emotion. It hurt in his very essence to know Michelle was leaving, and that she loved them enough to give them goodbyes. He knew she hadn’t done this for the others._

_“Okay.” She turned on her heel and left out the front door._

_And then she was gone._

\--- 

“Do you still have it?” asked Aaron. 

Justin dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. There she was, no photo, no known address. But there was the number he’d programmed in under a false name in case HQ bugged his phone, like most hunters who worked under the organization suspected. 

His finger hovered over the call button. He looked to his partner. The car was only just starting to thaw. Aaron nodded. 

Justin pressed the button and held the phone to his ear. It rang once before the familiar voice that he hadn’t heard in so long answered. 

“Hello.” Sweet, yet direct, as always. 

Justin couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips upon hearing her voice. “Michelle,” his voice was scratchy, tired with the events of the day and with the emotion welling inside him. 

“ _Justin, baby_ ,” she sounded relieved to hear his voice. “What’s up?” The question was careful. She knew too well the wide sphere of what an emergency could be to a hunter. Even better, she knew the kind of thing Justin would admit he needed help with. 

Justin squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Tell me what you need,” she directed. 

“We need…” he thought for a moment. What did they need? To get away, to be somewhere safe. “We need a place to stay.” 

“How many people?” 

“Four and a newborn,” answered Justin. “Oh, which means we also probably need --” 

“I’m on it.” he heard the clacking of a computer keyboard as she set up what they needed. “Is the baby’s mother part of the party?” 

“No.” he wasn’t sure if he should explain. He knew Michelle’s backstory. It hurt to even think of what bad memories this might trigger in her. 

As always, Michelle was all business when it was time for her to do her job. “Will the mother be joining the party any time soon? I need to know if I should order formula or human breast milk. Maybe both.” The last bit she seemed to say to herself and Justin heard yet more clicking as her fingers stroked across her Macbook. 

He swallowed. “The mother’s dead.” 

Justin could practically see Michelle’s reaction. The clacking stilled; she’d stopped typing. Her eyes would have gone far away. She would grit her teeth and -- yes, there was the clickity-clack of resumed typing -- shove her personal crap aside so she could help the people who needed her right now. 

He heard Michelle take a deep breath before saying, “There’s a house. In upstate New York. It’s in a powerfully warded part of the state. You should all be safe there.” 

“Warded? Michelle, what’s the place warded against?” 

“Everything,” was the tightly-worded reply. He could hear the fake smile she plastered onto her face when she said, “Nothing to worry about.” 

He bit his lip anxiously, knowing fully well that if someone put the energy into warding a place against intruders, they must have something they really want to hide. And he and Aaron had a habit of finding things that were never meant to be found. But he couldn’t think about that. He thought about the cold of the outside, and that it was only getting darker and colder, and he thought of that poor baby with only a thin blanket and a space heater keeping her warm. He pulled the hearse toward the front of the abandoned building. “Hey, Michelle, can I get an address on that house?” 

“I’m putting all of the info in a file and sending it to you,” she said. Just when he thought she was going to hang up, “Just,” her voice broke and Justin heard the genuine concern in her voice. “Tell me, is Aaron there with you? Are the both of you safe?” 

Justin smiled sadly and looked at the other man. He was also smiling, with just half of his face. He’d overheard everything. He projected his voice so Michelle could hear him. “I’m right here, Mother.” 

She chuckled on the other side and it felt like sunshine in the hearts of the world-wearied hunters. 

“Oh, and you might be happy to know,” added Aaron. “That the other two in our party? The Brians.” 

“Oh, good! Good!” Michelle praised. “And they’re okay too?” 

Aaron and Justin shared a look. Justin pressed his lips together. 

“They’re alive,” said Aaron. Rare vulnerability crossed over his face. “They need help, Michelle. I don’t know what to do, though.” 

They heard her take in a slow, deep breath. “You’re doing exactly the right thing. 

“There are other hunters with the same training and mission as you two. But the Brians need you two specifically. So does that baby. So you ferry those boys to New York and you rake leaves. You change diapers and you listen to whatever horror stories they have to tell because only you two can offer this kind of help to those closed-off individuals. 

The car approached two Brians and a baby as she finished telling them exactly what they needed to hear. “Promise you’ll help those boys.” 

Justin unlocked the hearse. “We promise.” 

Aaron stepped out to help the half-frozen men out of the cold and into the backseat. 

“That’s them, I gotta go,” said Justin. 

“Of course, honey. But one last question?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What’s the baby's’ name?” 

Justin drew a blank. Firkus was shuffling into the backseat, the little girl tucked under his jacket to try and keep her warm. She still wailed with the cold. 

Into the phone, Justin offered an incredulous “You know… I don’t think she has one yet.” 

He could practically hear Michelle’s quirked up eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, names, completely unnecessary. Listen, have Aaron call me when you get close to the place. You’ll need a passcode to get into the neighborhood.” 

“Really? A gated neighborhood?” 

“Just have him call me.”


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How are the boys acclimating to quiet life in upstate New York? What shenanigans ensue from four men taking care of a baby? And what’s the baby’s name anyway? Why is McCook always crying/staring into space? Most importantly, where do we go from here? these questions are answered only in this, the final chapter of What is and What Should Never Be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw/Cw: mention of past body horror and depiction of PTSD.  
> There will be a bit of an epilogue posted after this.

They called the baby Heather because she was a needy little thing. 

True to her word, Michelle had everything they could possibly need on that document. Paperwork, like a falsified birth certificate and a backstory as to why four men suddenly showed up in the middle of nowhere with an infant (witness protection program). She sent them a crib (from IKEA and it took four grown men six hours to put that fucker together), baby clothes, a mobile and many, many diapers (yes, said Michelle, you will need that many diapers). Michelle even hooked them up with a local breastmilk seller. Firkus was understandably hesitant at first, but it turned out that local mom Tina Sirena Madison was an avid instagram mom, photographing her every meal and workout routine. Tina was even sharing her most recent medical test results with her buyers to show that she had only healthy mom-juice in her FF-cup tiddies. 

Tina even came over to the house herself to deliver the first case of milk. Firkus’ last apprehensions abated when she showed up looking exactly like her photo and with a well-fed eight-month old clinging to her top hungrily. Brian Firkus noticed her eyes wandering the emptiness of the house, the lack of toys and blankets that should have been strewn about any new parent’s home. 

Sensing her judgemental gaze, Brian felt the need to explain. “We just moved in. There’s four of us. Well, four and Heather.” He chuckled uncomfortably and shifted the napping baby on his hip. 

_Laughing_ , he thought. _Haven’t done that in a while. She can probably tell. Please don’t call social services_. 

Tina’s eyes narrowed as she looked around the room. “Where are the boxes?” 

“The…” he shook his head. “What boxes?” 

Tina’s lips pulled wide, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She cupped a hand protectively around her son’s bald head. “You told me you recently moved? Where are your things?” 

Brian chuckled again, his skin growing hot. He tried to remember Michelle’s report. He had only scanned through it. _Why did I insist on meeting Tina alone?_

He cleared his throat. “Our. Boxes, we -- we didn’t come with much, you know? Sold most of it before we left.” 

His facade was cracking. He could face down against a vengeful spirit, gut a vampire and exorcise a demon, but under the judgemental gaze of a suburban mom, Brian Firkus crumbled. How sad was that? 

Not for the first time in a week, he found himself saved by Justin Honard. The tall, thin man sauntered into the kitchen, completely relaxed. “Oh!” he exclaimed cheerfully upon seeing Tina. “If it isn’t the milkmaid, aren’t we happy to see you!” 

He crossed the room in a few long strides to shake Tina’s hand. He felt her arm surrender in his shake, flopping like a limp noodle. He beamed in victory. 

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice tightened. There was discomfort behind her eyes. “Are you two…?” she looked between Brian and Justin. 

Brian reddened. Justin laughed, a real laugh. “Oh, we’re not a couple. Just roommates!” He slung a long arm around Brian’ shoulders. 

Brian looked up at his ‘roommate’. _Lying just comes so easily to you_. 

There was some more small talk between Justin and Tina, but Brian couldn’t stop watching Justin’s every move. Everything about him captivated, charmed and convinced the object of his attention that they were the only person in the room. The way he made so much eye contact, without it ever crossing into creepy territory. The way he playfully touched Tina’s shoulder, establishing a small connection, building trust. 

“Speaking of,” said Tina with finality. Brian didn’t know what they were speaking of. He just perked up immediately because knew she would be leaving soon. “The box is still in my car. I didn’t refrigerate it because it’s already getting so gosh-darn cold out.” 

She was right. Brian hadn’t had the chance to notice the past few days, but it was already late autumn in upstate New York. A layer of frost coated most surfaces and it was downright dumb of Brian to be outside without a jacket on. 

Tina’s car was at the end of their very long driveway, and she said she could supply them with 10 half-pint bags a week. This was great news to Brian, who was nervous that he was starving Heather of necessary nutrients in her current formula-only diet. They gave Tina the paypal number Michelle had given them and wished her a good afternoon. 

Justin held the door open so Brian could walk through with his cargo. The shorter of the two stopped in the entryway to address Justin. “Hey,” said Brian. “Thanks. For swooping in there.” 

Justin playfully poked Brian’s shoulder. “Saving blithering fools from certain death, that’s what I do.” 

Brian winced. “Was I that obvious?” 

Justin tongue-popped. “Based on your face? You looked like you expected Tina to eat you.” 

Brian laughed, a real laugh. 

Justin couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face at the breakthrough. He decided on a new mission: keep trying to make Brian laugh. Whatever it took. 

_____ 

Two weeks passed and Firkus was functioning pretty well. He had intense separation anxiety where Heather was concerned, and he was constantly putting his own health on the line to take care of her. He rarely let any of the other guys help. But he was functioning. He ate; he needed his strength to keep up with her constant neediness. He slept, somewhat. Not much less than on post-hunt nights. He got up in the morning, he changed clothes occasionally, and he let Justin and Aaron talk him into taking a shower every couple of days. He laughed on occasion. Brian Firkus was functioning. 

The same could not be said for Brian McCook. The staring/weeping the others had seen the night they rescued him continued, almost uninterrupted. He was withering away, and 17 days into what was supposed to be recovery time, with no sign of improvement, Aaron and Justin were having a serious conversation about the state of him. 

“He needs us to help him,” insisted Justin. 

“We don’t know what he needs. He won’t let us in _to_ help him, Justin!” 

The taller of the two chewed his lip, feeling blood spread across his mouth. He sucked it onto his tongue and said nothing. 

Aaron paced in the kitchen. “I looked it up. Catatonia is most often seen in schizophrenics, but it can also rarely show up in PTSD cases.” 

“Nice job, dr Phil,” whispered Justin. 

“That’s kind of exactly what I mean.” Aaron made his partner look him in the eye. “He needs professional help. We can’t offer him that here.” Justin looked away and Aaron grabbed him. “I don’t like it either but you know I’m right about this. He can’t stay here!” 

“Wow, okay.” 

Two heads snapped in the direction of the voice. There stood Brian McCook, right on the other side of the kitchen. For the first time since they had freed him, the man showed a different emotion from sadness. 

Brian was insulted. He was hurt. Of course he had only heard the tail end of the discussion, but Aaron could guess the part he had heard did not sound good out of context. 

McCook stormed out the door and around the side of the house. Then he looked down and saw Firkus bleeding out on the frost-coated lawn. He froze. 

Brian had no indication of how long he stood there, motionless, staring at the ground. 

He was startled by a shaking sound behind him and he turned. Aaron must have followed him out, though he hadn’t heard the other man approach. Damn twinkle toes. 

Brian looked back at the ground. Of course, there was nothing there. There never had been. He looked back at the man who was actually outside with him. 

Aaron had an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and in his hand he extended the open box toward McCook. He grabbed at the box desperately, feeling his pulse race at the prospect of some relief. Some calm. 

Aaron pulled the box away and Brian stared daggers at the other hunter. 

“I know nobody likes a tease,” said Aaron, undisturbed by the death glare. “But you know who else people don’t like?” 

McCook didn’t respond; his gaze was fixed on the box. He counted seven cigarettes in there, just begging to be lit. He could do it, one right after the other after the other. 

Aaron ignored his friend’s addictive desperation and continued. “A vegetable, Brian.” At the mention of his name, he looked up. “So. _I’m_ gonna smoke, and I’ll give you a cigarette if you talk to me.” 

Brian gulped, his lips dry in the cold. “Deal.” 

Aaron smirked and handed over a single cig. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, but again kept what Brian wanted just out of his reach. “Talk,” he instructed, smoke billowing out of his mouth and nose. 

Want drove Brian’s stubbornness away. He felt tears sting the edges of his eyes. He locked them away, this time. He made his voice hard, constructing walls he could hide behind. “Nice weather we’re having, eh, Coady?” He grabbed at the lighter, but the other man’s reflexes were faster than his malnourished ones. 

Aaron tsked, little tufts of smoke teasing Brian again. “Not what I mean, Bri.” 

Brian groaned in frustration. Both were alarmed at how much he sounded like Big Mama Djinn. 

“Okay,” leveled Aaron. “You talk about the djinn, or what happened in that basement, and I’ll light you up.” 

Brian sneered. “Why don’t you just give me the light?” 

“Because I don’t trust you not to hurt yourself.” 

Aaron’s bluntness caught Brian off guard. His shoulders fell and his mouth popped open. Unable to find words, Aaron guided him. “Start talking.” He lit Brian’s cigarette and leaned back against the frigid stone wall. “How did you two get captured?” 

McCook took in a deep drag, letting the hot smoke fill his lungs, his core. It felt amazing in the cold to keep this heat inside, but he held it too long and had to cough it out. Aaron waited patiently, breathing out of his nose like an ancient dragon. McCook was suddenly reminded that the man had seen and done a number of things that Brian would never know. 

He started talking. 

“They surprised us. We thought it was only one.” Brian’s words came rushed, so he could pull in another deep drag. 

Aaron tongue popped while he waited for Brian to breathe. “So you took HQ’s intel without doing any looking on your own?” 

Brian swallowed, then coughed. “Bad, I know.” 

“Real dumbass move, if you ask me,” said Aaron, looking down his nose at the other. 

“Well, nobody asked you,” spat Brian. One look from Aaron had him apologising. “I’m sorry. It’s just. Been a while.” 

“Since what? Since you slept?” asked Aaron, tilting his head like a cat. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You look even more raccoonish than usual.” 

Brian turned to see himself in a small bathroom window. Aaron was right. He’d lost weight in his face, in addition to the rest of his body. Likely what being held hostage for a week would do to a person, but his fasting had continued past Aaron and Justin’s rescue. He’d only been able to eat a few bites of anything since escaping. Even then he often had to throw it up after. But what Aaron was likely referring to were the deep purple, bruiselike half-circles under Brians pale blue eyes. He rubbed at the offending marks, as if they were makeup. As if they could ever just go away. 

“Seeing ghosts, are we, McCook?” asked Aaron. 

He looked over the other man, scanning him, taking in his every feature. Aaron was also relatively thin, but healthily so. His face was full. He also had circles under his eyes, but they were more natural -- healthy, for a hunter, at least. Folk in their line of work knew three to five hours was enough sleep to go on daily. Five hours and lots of caffeine. 

Brian found himself staring at the corner of the other man’s mouth, the hard lines of a scar he didn’t know the story behind. 

Aaron noticed him looking, and touched the scar gently. “Meathook,” he explained. Brian winced and instinctively grabbed at his own cheek. Aaron continued the story, speaking in a monotone, like he was giving a history lecture to a bunch of bored high schoolers. “Back in the day before Justin. When I was all ‘fuck the world, I don’t need help hunting’. Went after this... demon-hellgod-thing. Turned out the bad guy had backup. Strung me up like a fish on a line.” Aaron pointed to a star-shaped scar further into his cheek, pointing out where the tip of the hook had come out. 

Brian winced empathetically. “How’d you get out?” 

Aaron took another drag. He waited a while before he kept talking, picking his words carefully. “I… didn’t want friends. At the time. But. There were people who called themselves my friends. Allies.” He flicked at the end of his cigarette. “They came for me.” 

“You owe your life to them,” surmised Brian. He stuck his cigarette back into his mouth. 

Aaron shot him a look. “We got even.” 

Time passed, and it was obvious Aaron was done talking, so Brian decided to make good on their deal. His friend had shared a painful memory, it was only fair he did the same. Besides, it was safe out here, in the open and frigid air. With Aaron. If he didn’t talk now, Brian thought he never would. 

So he talked. He told Aaron all about the world the djinn conjured for him. The gross apartment. The smell. How real it all felt. Two cigarettes in and he stopped before he even said the other Brian was with him. He needed to know how Aaron would react, which was, not at all. The other man’s slow blinking and chainsmoking was enough comfort that Brian managed to tell the rest. The fact that they were kinda-sorta-but-not-really together. That they paid their dues in sex. When he mentioned they were drag queens in the dream, Aaron spat smoke cackling. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aaron said. “Just--” he coughed. “Go on. What happened next?” 

Brian’s face fell. He didn’t want to talk about it. 

Aaron caught on, and stepped closer to the other man. “Do you wanna go inside?” he asked. “Sun’s going down. It’s gonna get even colder out here.” 

Brian shook his head. He ground his teeth together. 

Aaron approached even closer. He extended a hand and set it on Brian’s shoulder. An offer the man was free to take or not. Brian tensed at the touch, but didn’t tell Aaron to stop. Neither made a further move. 

The silence was deafening. 

Somewhere inside the house, Heather cried. Brian looked up at the sky, willing the wetness in his eyes to stay put. 

“Brian,” Aaron said. His voice was low, private. “There’s a few ways you can wake up from a djinn’s influence. You either become self aware in knowing it’s a dream, or you end the fantasy by force.” At this, the levee broke, and Brian’s cheeks wetted. 

“I know what comes next isn’t gonna be pleasant.” Aaron brought his face close to Brians. He saw the vein in the other’s forehead pulsing beneath the skin. “But I _really_ think you need to talk about this. And I think you know that.” 

Brian took in a shaky breath and opened his eyes. Aaron’s gaze bore into his soul. _Just say it_ , he thought. 

So he did. Stilted, in a few words, but it was enough to get his point across. “Firkus died. I watched -- I _held_. Him. And I. _Felt_ \--” his voice broke off. He couldn’t say the rest. Not with the way Aaron was looking at him. He couldn’t. He let himself sink to his knees, Aaron coming with him to hold him as he wept. But Aaron was right. It still hurt, but he felt just a little better knowing that he wasn’t alone anymore. That someone else knew. 

So he let Aaron hold him. He buried his face in the other man’s shoulder and listened to the hushing and soft comforting words being whispered into his hair. Let himself be rocked like a child, like Heather. Until they were practically frozen solid and Justin poked his head out and insisted they come inside. 

Still Brian clung on to the contact, the feeling of another warm-blooded being next to him. The comfort of what was real. He clutched Aaron’s wrist as the men made their way inside. Justin cleared baby stuff off of the couch, leaving enough space for the two to crash on the fabric, which had been warmed by exposure to the still-lit fireplace. 

Aaron grabbed at a knit blanket thrown over the back of the couch and wrapped it around them both. Justin wanted to know what had happened outside, but he only received a pointed look from his partner. _Not now_. 

The blonde opened his arms and Brian dove back into the safety there. Brian was shivering, but he didn’t feel cold. He must have been -- it was a September evening in upstate New York and he’d been outside with only a light jacket for nearly an hour. 

“Justin, I think Brian could use some cocoa.” Brian felt Aaron’s throat vibrate on the back of his head as the man spoke. 

Brian heard Justin rifling around in the kitchen. He tried to still the shaking of his muscles. He took deep breaths past the knot in his throat. It was hard to swallow past it, but he managed. He kept trying to squeeze his eyes shut, block out the world, but every time he closed his lids he saw the bloodstained glass cabinet. Firkus’ frightened eyes. Jill’s blood on Eddie’s clothes. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” said Justin. He was holding out a coffee cup to McCook. He tried to take it, but his muscles moved like syrup. Justin set the cup on a coaster in front of McCook and took up a seat opposite the two men huddled on the couch. Justin looked for something, anything, to say, but found nothing. 

Aaron blew on the surface of his mug and slurped at the hot chocolate. He closed his eyes, taking in the scent and the heat and the taste all at once. He seemed to calm instantly, noticed Brian. He wanted that, so he shakily reached out his arm toward where his own cup sat on the table. His hand was shaking so badly he knew before he was even close that he wouldn’t be able to hold it himself. 

_God, why am I such a mess?_ He dropped his arm and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

Then Justin was holding the cup in front of his mouth, looking into his eyes with concern. “You need to warm up.” 

Justin let Brian meet him halfway, holding the cup for the weakened man to drink from. As soon as the sweet liquid hit his tongue, Brian felt a stirring, like waking up from a daydream. The fog in his mind shooed away by chocolatey dawn. He took almost the whole cup down in one go. And as he warmed up, he let his caretakers know that he needed help, giving them the opportunity to show their love. He realized it’s what he would have wanted if their situations were reversed. 

He let Justin warm up his hands for him, let Aaron quietly hold him. When his eyes drooped heavily, he stretched himself between his friends who loved and cared for him. Brian fell asleep with his head on Justin’s lap and his feet shoved under Aaron’s thighs. 

… 

He still woke up alone. But he woke up… dry. For the first time since the djinn’s lair, Brian woke up peacefully. Not soaked in full-body sweat, not screaming and scaring everyone in earshot, not in wide-eyed panic mode. He just… opened his eyes and he was awake. 

He was alone, and it was dark. It had been night when he’d fallen asleep, flanked by his friends, but how long ago was that? Hours? Days? 

There was a sound in the background that had him on his feet before he even realized where he was going. His animal instincts pulled him toward the crying child. 

The other Brian’s room was open, the light on. His head lolled to one side, his eyes closed and his body slack. McCook saw a flash of false memory -- the same man’s body going slack -- but he waved it away. This Brian in front of him, in his nightshirt and sweatpants, this was really happening and it was in real time. Heather was crying in his lap, having slid out of Firkus’s sleeping arms into an awkward position. Poor Firkus must have been so tired he just passed out and hadn’t even stirred when she cried. 

McCook slowly made his way over to the chair, calculating his footsteps like he was approaching a monster. He smiled, the action unfamiliar. Having known what sleep-deprived Firkus was like, monster wasn’t that far off. 

As he slowly dug his fingers under Heather’s back, Brian McCook realized that he had never held Heather before this. Firkus was extremely possessive of the infant, and nobody had tried to take her from him, since she kept the man anchored in the present, as opposed to McCook’s fractured mental state up to that point. Heather kept Firkus occupied, kept him moving forward. As far as Brian was concerned, it was worth a shot for him to try the same. 

When he pulled Heather off of the other Brian’s lap, the man groaned softly in his sleep at the loss. But the baby girl realized she was being held, at least somewhat comfortably, and quieted herself. 

Brian swiftly carried Heather out of the room, tucking her close to his chest as if it were second nature to him. Though he did have a room in the house Michelle had hooked the men up with, Brian still preferred the couch. It was less empty, less of a reminder how out of place he was as a monster hunter in a domestic setting. So it was back to the couch that he took Heather in her baby pink blanket. His spot was still warm from where he’d lain before and he set her down there, propping her back against a pillow. 

He caressed her face. She was so small. And she just looked at him, wide-eyed, taking all of him in. He found himself talking to her. “I know, who is this new person, right? You’ve only seen one face pretty much your whole life. And I’m pretty sure you tiny humans have the memory of a goldfish, right? 

That sound right? Yeah -- oh, a yawn? I mean I know I’m incredibly boring, it’s true.” Heather’s eyelids drooped. Brian just stared at her, so little, so precious. Heather didn’t know anything about the recession, or student loan debt or poverty or homelessness. All she knew was how to be a baby, to demand people listen to your concerns without telling them what you mean, because that’s not your job -- you’re a baby. They’re a caretaker. It’s their job to know what you want and need, not yours. It was kind of beautiful. 

Brian rested his head on his fist. Heather’s breathing slowed. Her nose made little squirly baby snores that were so much more adorable than adult snores. Brian found his breathing synchronizing with hers, and soon enough he too was fast asleep. And for the second time since the basement, Brian McCook didn’t dream at all. 

_____ 

“ _There_ you are!” exclaimed a worried Firkus, rushing over to baby Heather. She’d fallen onto her side, but was still safely on the couch and wasn’t fussing at all. In fact, her wide eyes were trained on the sleeping man who had tended to her the night before. 

McCook stirred when Firkus blew past, hands already outstretched to the baby. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he croaked “Good morning to you too.” 

Firkus swept Heather into his arms, then looked down at McCook as if his partner had grown horns overnight. 

“What?” asked McCook. 

Firkus blinked five times fast, trying to make sense of it. 

McCook looked around for the source of Firkus’s confusion. “God, _what_?” 

Firkus hiked Heather higher up on his hip (A/N: how’d you like that Mr Whitney? I had this one creative writing teacher who was really annoyed by overuse of alliteration in stories. We kinda put it into our works just to piss him off ). He looked a by now frustrated McCook up and down. “You,” he said. 

“Me?” 

Firkus pressed his lips together. “I know I haven’t been the most… observant. Recently when it comes to people who can wipe their own asses but… you were _sleeping_.” 

McCook’s mouth quirked down into a Thinking Scowl. “Hm,” he said. “So I was.” 

Firkus tilted his head and reached out his hand toward the back of the couch, lowering himself down. He could tell Heather needed a change and was going to be screaming with hunger in a matter of minutes, but for the first time in a long time, she was not his only priority. “And you…” he looked down at the fuzzy head below his chin. “You took care of her.” 

The other Brian shrugged. 

Firkus knew this was progress. The fact that he was having an actual conversation with him. That Brian McCook seemed genuinely present right now. He wasn’t staring off into space, holed up in some traumatic memory. He was here. They were both here. Of course, he didn’t know how to put that into words that he could say to McCook. Heather was starting to fidget and a full-fledged tantrum was building in the girl. Firkus needed to get a move on. 

He stood up and gripped McCook firmly by the shoulder, the way men do when they try and show emotional support through the limits of heterosexual touch. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. 

While Firkus headed into the kitchen to deal with Hangry Heather, Brian McCook sat thinking. Last night he’d woken up from a weeks-long haze. He’d had opportunities to fall back into that state, but he had been able to push that off, keep himself grounded. Brian had barely begun to understand all the twists and turns of his brain, the nightmares that preceded the whole djinn fiasco proved he was maladjusted to begin with. Maybe that was why the dream world fucked him up so much, at least more than it seemed to do to Firkus. And while he was out of the fog now, the nightmares could return. What would he do if he fell back into that place? Walking around like a zombie too afraid to face self care tasks like eating and bathing. It shouldn't be anyone else’s job to bring him back, though what Aaron and Justin had done last night was the biggest act of kindness he’d ever experienced. Brian was a goddamn adult, who should be able to fight his own demons. Or at the very least tell people he had them in the first place. 

He was walking into the kitchen without realizing until the other Brian caught his gaze, one hand supporting a bottle that was in Heather’s mouth, the other holding her little body. “Need something?” asked Brian. 

“Yeah.” McCook formed a plan as he acted it out. Stepping over the clean tile, clenching and unclenching his sweaty palms. Maintaining eye contact with his hunting partner, his friend, his not-boyfriend in a life that never was. He closed the distance between them. 

McCook supported the arm that held Heather with one of his own, letting the skin of their arms be the first to touch. 

Firkus thought the other might want a turn holding the girl, so he prepared to transfer her weight over. 

But that wasn’t what McCook had in mind. His chest was pressed up against Heather’s other side, the baby the only thing between them. 

Before Brian Firkus even had a chance to anticipate what was going to happen, the other man’s lips were on his. 

It was soft and quick, and comprised of mostly shock, but it happened. They both kept their arms under Heather, both afraid the other would drop the girl if they let go. 

Stunned, Firkus looked again for something to say. “You… you said that… hunters can’t--” 

McCook nodded. “Hunters, yeah.” He swallowed. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was scared, yeah. But not the debilitating scared of his anxiety dreams or his flashbacks. This was the scared of facing a monster in a fight he knew he was going to win. Only it wasn’t a fight, this time. It was a conversation. 

Firkus stared deep into his eyes. It was alarming, how close they were. Letting themselves be this close. Not shying away. His mouth was open, as it had been for a while, relaxed with shock. He shook his head. “So why…?” 

McCook took a deep breath. “Why now?” His voice was stronger than he felt, despite the nervous shake to it. “Because I’ve decided something.” He nodded. “Last night I decided -- I said, ‘you know what? I’m…” he shook his head and puffed out his cheeks, waiting for the words to form themselves in his brain. He didn’t know really what he was saying, but when did Brian McCook know what he was saying? 

“I decided that I’m…” he started again, the pitch in his voice rising at the end, making the fragment into a question. Then it hit him. 

“Retiring!” he gasped. “I’m retiring. From hunting, that’s what I decided -- I’m -- an early retirement for Brian McCook, that’s what’s happening.” He looked the other Brian in his awestruck face. “So. Since we’re not hunters anymore, there’s nothing standing in the way!” 

“We’re retiring?” echoed the other Brian in the form of a question. 

McCook stopped in the middle of his excited tracks. “Oh! Oh, oh oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to assume that just because I’ve made the decision to retire that you have to as if you have no life outside of me and no free will at all,” he stepped away to mentally flog himself out loud. “Gawd, good job, Brian, way to be super weird and misogynistic and assumptive and an asshole like just because you’ve decided you love someone now they’re your property--” 

Firkus put the bottle down on Heather’s chest to free his hand. There was so much in that rant to unpack -- was there a straight-up love confession in that mess? -- but first and foremost Firkus knew he had to put a stop to Brian’s incessant rambling. 

He grabbed Brian McCook by the shoulder, spun him around and crushed their lips together. He couldn’t tell how long they stayed like that before Heather started squirming, uncomfortable with her current position. They finally pulled back, panting and wild-eyed, just staring at each other, mentally asking the same question: 

_What now?_


End file.
